• Michael Mullins
  • Michael "The Bard" Mullin
  • "The Bard of Foremass"
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    The Wood In Autumn

    This wood is lonely; scarce a sound is heard;
    Silent the wind is; silent every bird
    That made this solitude with music ring,
    When buds were bursting in the days of spring,

    Nature seems here asleep; each tiny sound
    But makes the hush of autumn more profound.
    Pensive o’er paths leaf-carpeted I stroll,
    And melancholy fancies fill my soul.

    Come graveyard thoughts and visions of decay
    To make the dim, grey paths more dim and grey;
    But sunbeams here and there invade the gloom –
    As dreams of youth the path of age illume.

    Among these trees, whose great arms are upheld
    In attitude of prayer, like saints of old,
    There’s a low rustle, lone and tremulous –
    The leaves of Memory might rustle thus.

    Lonely the wood: yet there’s a charm sublime
    In the sad place and in the solemn time;
    A mystic something, which attracts the soul,
    And gives it energy to seek the Goal.

    Michael Mullin

    ‘The Bard of Foremass’

    Foremass Lower, Sixmilecross, Co. Tyrone.