• Michael Mullins
  • Michael "The Bard" Mullin
  • "The Bard of Foremass"
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    Little Things of Grace

    I love the little things of grace
    That beautify my native place;
    The blithe song birds, the sweet wild-flowers,
    The spells of sunshine and the showers.

    The sun-reflecting cottage panes;
    Carts rattling over roads and lanes;
    The snowdrops in the storms a-bloom
    That gladden us ‘mid winter gloom.

    I love the robin as it grieves
    O’er faded joys ‘mong faded leaves;
    I like the way it tilts its head
    To cheek me for a crumb of bread.

    I love the artless loveliness
    Of country girls in rustic dress;
    School-children dallying awhile
    O’er a bird’s nest or a flower’s smile.

    An old man by his cottage door
    Culling dream-shells on childhood’s shore;
    Or in the scrap-book of the past
    Reviewing scenes that fled too fast.

    A jocund thrush, a joyful lark,
    A corncrake shouting in the dark;
    Dearer to me these little things
    Than worldly wealth or pomp of kings.

    Michael Mullin, ‘The Bard of Foremass’
    Foremass Lower, Sixmilecross, Co. Tyrone.

    Newspaper cutting – won a prize of
    Half a guinea in The Sunday Independent