The leaves are flying – it is near October;
The corn is gathered and the turf all home.
The trees are sighing – it is near October,
And wild geese calling as afar they roam.
The nights are dismal and the days are dreary,
The fog is heavy and the winds are cold –
Cold heralds of the coming Winter weary –
The pleasant story of the Summer’s told.

Life’s year is flying – we are near October;
Our flow’rs are fading and our locks go grey.
Our hearts are sighing – we are near October;
Like wild geese flying are our thoughts away.
Like leaves in Autumn have our young hopes perished;
Our only pleasure is in turning back
And dreaming over all the dreams we cherished,
And in retracting the old beaten track.

Pale ghosts are flying as we near October –
This ghost of visionary hopes of yore;
Pale ghosts are sighing as we near October
Of friends we used to see, but see no more.
O sad, sweet memories! O leaves low lying,
Down-troden; neath the march of modern times;
Dear old-time echoes, ‘mid the breezes’ sighing.
Still haunt me to the last like old school rhymes.

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

Fear says tis folly still to try
Despair advises me to yield
But “No surrender” I reply
I will not quit the battlefield.

For Hope high on the mountain top
Serenly points towards the dawn
And Courage whispers “Don’t give up”
And Perseverance cried “Keep on!”

Soul-weary plodding up the slopes
(Far stars I glimpse thro’ mist and rain)
Heart-heavy with frustrated hopes,
I stumble, fall and rise again.

Still I am master of my mind
And of my soul I’m captain still
My “No surrender”, on the wind
Proclaims my progress up the hill.

I am not yet a ship in tow
Depending on another’s aid
Crippled, but still I’m fit to go
Off beaten but still undismayed.

Fear says ‘tis vain again to try
‘Give up’ Despair advises me
But “No Surrender” I reply
A coward I will never be.

For Hope high on her mountain top
Smiles with the glowing smile of dawn
And courage counsels “Don’ give up”
Cries Pereseverence Carry on”.

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

Fotenote by P.D:
Those of you who are of the Bard and Jack family know that we are somewhat steadfast and those of you who know us would probably say we are THICK.  My father in this poem puts these sentiments into verse with meter and rhyming.  Its called ‘No Surrender’.

It blew into my garden,
A breeze soft and mild;
It chased away the chill
Of a winter wild;
And the pale faced snowdrops
Looked up and smiled.

On the bleak hill of Age
I was walking alone
When a tender recollection
From boyhood flown
Met me: – the bleakness
Far away was blown.

A kindly mem’ry travels
A long long road –
A lift, a gift, or a smile bestowed.
Kindness is the key
To joy’s abode.

MICHAEL MULLIN, ‘The Bard of Foremass’,
Foremass Lower, Sixmilecross, Co. Tyrone.
Sent 17 Feb ‘47