Of this office work I weary,
And my yawn becomes a sigh:
And the city grows more dreary
As the summer days go by.

So I snip my business tether,
And I hie me to the hills –
To the land of ling and heather,
To the birthplace of the rills.

I shall linger by the fountains,
‘Neath the shade of leafy trees
I shall scale the lofty mountains
In the footsteps of the breeze.

At my leisure I shall linger
On the curlews’ aerodrome,
And the lark will be my singer;
And the sky will roof my home.

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