• Michael Mullins
  • Michael "The Bard" Mullin
  • "The Bard of Foremass"
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    To Autumn

    In the lone woodland, where no song of bird
    Breaks the deep calm; where Nature seems at prayer;
    Where your low tranquil breathing is but heard –
    I’ll seek you there:

    I’ll seek you there; and with you  wander through
    Dim sylvan paths, like lovers hand in hand;
    While bows the wood’s great spirit, passive to
    Your mute command.

    When summer comes the woods wave banners green;
    But Summer’s gone, and you reign in his stead;
    And soon your colours only will be seen –
    Gold, brown and red.

    We’ll roam where fields of undulating corn
    Put on the golden symbol of your rule.
    With you for monitor I’ll strive to learn
    In Nature’s school.

    In the lone woodland ways, in the dim light,
    Each fading leaf will be a sermon deep.
    O, teach me, then, to read my lesson right,
    And wisely reap.


    Michael Mullin

    ‘The Bard of Foremass’

    Foremass Lower, Sixmilecross, Co. Tyrone.