I love a sweet wee valley
Which kindly mountains hide;
I love the little river
Whose waters through it glide.
I would not leave this valley
For scenes divinely fair.
An old tree, deeply rooted
You can’t transplant elsewhere.

Peaceful and sweet and lovely
The valley round me lies;
And low and soft and soothing
The river’s murmurs rise.

I  wearied in the city
I tired of city throngs
Who never saw my river
And never heard its songs.
But here I weary never
And never wish to part
For the murmur of the river
Makes music in my heart.

Michael Mullin

‘The Bard of Foremass’

Foremass Lower, Sixmilecross, Co. Tyrone.

Sent to Dublin and Cork on 26 Oct 55