I sing as I follow my plough,
Up hill and down I sing,
And perched on a beechen bough
Where last year’s dead leaves cling,
A robin is singing now
To me as I follow my plough –
And both of us dream of Spring.

I dream as I follow my plough –
Follow my plough and team;
I see some daisies now,
Some gold on gorse agleam,
Soft winds blow on my brow;
Of Spring, and I follow my plough –
That Spring is here, I dream.

I hope as I follow my plough –
But a doubt in my heart is stirred –
For buds on the beechen bough
To ope have not yet dared;
“Tis Spring,” says the wee bird now;
While a cloud creeps o’er my brow –
“Tis Spring,” says the happy bird.

While I follow my plough and team,
Don’t bid my dreams begone –
Foolish although they seem;
They help me t’wards the dawn.
Oft’ times a foolish dream
Becomes  a sunny beam
To poor men ploughing on.

MICHAEL MULLIN ‘The Bard of Foremass’
Foremass Lower, Sixmilecross, Co. Tyrone.