• Michael Mullins
  • Michael "The Bard" Mullin
  • "The Bard of Foremass"
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    Spring In My Garden

    Here in this garden old; here where the rush
    And din of city traffic ne’er intrude;
    Here where spring winds on budding tree and bush
    Play fitting strains for such a solitude:

    Here it is sweet to let my drifting dreams
    Blend with the lark’s song and the thrush’s lay,
    Blend with the melodies of rippling streams
    That wind by meads where merry lamb-kins play.

    With joy these pretty little flowers smile;
    With joy these tender little buds expand;
    With joy these grateful birds now sing, and toil
    To make their future dwellings snug and grand.

    The happiness of springtime drives away
    The winter’s nightmare.  O! ‘tis sweet to hide
    A little while, from cares and toils of day,
    Within this garden old at eventide.

    Not oft’ the busy world permits its slaves
    To taste the joys of such a place as this –
    This place for which the God-like spirit craves:
    Because it holds God’s peace and heaven’s bliss.

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