No more as from a golden throne
I’ll gaze from gorse clad Brishmacree
Or Culnaheena, Barnasone
Or Carrickascoppal dear to me.

No more I’ll plough for daily bread
The Foremass fields of dark brown clay,
For Fate ordains that I must tread
The exile’s long and lonely way.

But haply yet beyond the foam
When slumber sets my spirit free
In dreams I’ll see the hills of home
Bernish, Foremass and Cracrawee.

Often in dreams I’ll rove the lanes
Of Shane and Cuilnaheena when
The lights are bright through window panes
From Mullaghbrack to Bernish Glen.

Michael Mullin

‘The Bard of Foremass’

Foremass Lower, Sixmilecross, Co. Tyrone.