• Michael Mullins
  • Michael "The Bard" Mullin
  • "The Bard of Foremass"
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    While Ploughing in Spring

    I hear a wee  bird sing
    Upon a budding bough;
    I feel the breath of Spring
    Like balm upon my brow;
    Lark-like, my heart on wing
    Sings the song of the plough.

    O, thrush! O, joyous thrush!
    Fain would I ask of you
    What makes the glad notes gush,
    Spontaneous and true?
    Far from your hawthorn bush
    Sail Care and all her crew.

    I hear the lambkin bleat;
    I see it now at play;
    Wow! horses, wow!!! ‘tis sweet
    To watch its frolics gay.
    While shade and sunshine fleet
    Race over Foremass brae.

    Dear feathered friends of mine!
    Your gladness makes me glad;
    Your melodies divine
    Make me once more a lad,
    Herding my father’s kine –
    Ere sorrows made me sad.

    I hear a wee bird sing;
    A daisy’s smile I see;
    I feel the kiss of Spring –
    She trips along with me;
    While I am following
    My plough along the lea.

    Michael Mullin

    ‘The Bard of Foremass’

    Foremass Lower, Sixmilecross, Co. Tyrone.