• Michael Mullins
  • Michael "The Bard" Mullin
  • "The Bard of Foremass"
  • Poem Banner
    The Ploughman

    Just a common ploughman
    Out on Foremass brae –
    Just a common ploughman,
    Ploughing day by day.

    Yet he is as happy
    As the day is long;
    Whistling you may hear him,
    Or singing a song

    He reins in his horses –
    Down the hill go they;
    He reins in his horses –
    Then up, up the brae.

    Marching, ever marching
    In the furrow brown,
    Rolling up the brown earth,
    The green rolling down.

    Right above the cabin
    Where his dear ones bide
    (White washed walls are pretty
    ‘Gainst a green the hillside).

    He can see his youngsters
    Roll and jump and race,
    Merry as the lambs on
    The sloping brae’s face.

    Hard his hands, yet tender
    The heart in his breast –
    The ploughman that carols,
    Lark-like o’er his nest.

    MICHAEL MULLIN ‘The Bard of Foremass’
    Foremass Lower, Sixmilecross, Co. Tyrone