• Michael Mullins
  • Michael "The Bard" Mullin
  • "The Bard of Foremass"
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    Back to the bog

    As I jog to the bog for a load of peat,
    The August sun goes up.
    And the morning’s bracing breeze is sweet
    As hither it hastes with a laugh to greet
    Me on the mountain top.

    ‘Tis good to gaze on this purple cloak
    Over the mountain flung;
    “Tis bliss to escape from the city smoke.
    And to live the life of the country folk –
    The folk from whom I’ve sproung.

    Now we have climbed to the mountain
    Now from this old bog road
    I, on a beautiful map, look down
    Valley and hill and village and town;
    A masterpiece of God.

    Long sick of the city that cramps the soul
    My buoyant spirit runs
    From east to west, from pole to pole,
    And where undiscovered planets roll
    Round yet undreamt of suns.

    As I jog to the bog for a load of peat
    I wing the world above;
    And I feel like a lark that soars to greet
    With a glad song of love.

    Michael Mullin’, ‘The Bard of Foremass’
    Foremass Lower, Sixmilecross, Co. Tyrone.