Old Winter’s heavy breathing
For a short time has ceased;
And the lull – though a wee thing –
Is hailed by bird and beast.

And gentle zephyrs, crooning
Where smiling sunbeams tread,
With tender touch are tuning
The sylvan harps o’erhead.

The Shamrock woos the Daisy
So fair, and sweet, and chaste;
Her blushes drive him crazy;
He clasps her slender waist.

A blackbird sits inspecting
The labours of a thrush
Engaged in house erecting
Within a hawthorn bush.

Then weary with its labour,
This toiler sings sweet songs
To please a pretty neighbour
To whom its heart belongs.

I dream the winter’s over –
Although I know I’m wrong –
While list’ning to this lover,
That shrines its love in song.

–

MICHAEL MULLIN

‘THE BARD OF FOREMASS’
FOREMASS LOWER, SIXMILECROSS, CO. TYRONE