• Michael Mullins
  • Michael "The Bard" Mullin
  • "The Bard of Foremass"
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    In The Doorway of her Cottage

    In the doorway of her cottage
    She was framed a cailin shy:
    Embodying all the beauty
    Of the earth and of the sky.

    ‘Twas a simple little cottage;
    ‘Twas a quiet scene and quaint;
    Which a bard would love to sing of,
    And an artist love to paint.

    Though she was not quite in fashion,
    With her long and wavy hair,
    And that feminine appearance
    Which our fathers thought so fair.

    Though her home was poor and humble;
    And her hands were rough with toil;
    There was grace in face and figure,
    And the sun shone in her smile.

    As the snows among the beeches
    Were her skin and wavy curls;
    And her teeth and lips and blushes
    Were as rubies, and as pearls.

    Just a cailin in a doorway
    Of her quiet cot, and quaint; –
    Where’s the poet who could sing her?
    Where’s the artist who could paint?