BirdForum

The blackbird's song it takes me far away
To northern Land and to a distant day
His kin birds sang all day until sundown
In leafy groves just out of Millstreet Town.

A blackbird piping on a blackwood tree
Awake the nostalgic memories in me
Again I walk the lush green fields in Spring
And hear the wild birds on the hedgerows sing.

Bluebells bloom by the hedge by the bohreen
And cock pheasant often heard though seldom seen...

Francis Duggan

From Claramore the rill in flood flow brown
Through Claraghatlea a mile from Millstreet Town
And dark to gray rain clouds across the sky
Tell that more heavy showers of rain are nigh.

You know that bird to whom the voice belong
When you hear the dipper sing his scratchy song
He pipe his loudest when the flood is high
And the wet conditions he seem to enjoy.

The last thing that the farmer needs is rain
A hungry Winter...

Francis Duggan

The fields around Sliabh Luachra with frost were hoary gray
On the morning after Christmas on festive St Stephen's day
And the Wrenboys sang 'The Song Of the Wran' as they marched from door to door
To the music of accordions in the old Town of Rathmore.

The Wrenboys had their face masks on and the boy with the money tin
Said 'thank you mam' to the housewife as she dropped a shilling in
And then on to the next house for to spread their gift of joy...

Francis Duggan

Old Clara hill in Millstreet in Duhallow
Your well worn paths the goats run up and down
For centuries overlooking the green country
Long before there ever was a Millstreet Town.

Old Clara hill your years cannot be counted
For you have been around as long as time
Duhallow poets have written much about you
And you've inspired Sliabh luachra's bards to rhyme.

Old Clara hill beneath a clump of bracken
The skylark on her nest...

Francis Duggan

At Clarabeg in the high fields by the mountain
The black faced lambs around their mothers play
And rain at times persistent fall in drizzle
At mid morning of an early April day.

The gray crow cawing in the grove by the farmyard
And skylark piping in the cloudy sky
Most other birds sing on bush, tree and hedgerow
But the lark can only carol as he fly.

The daisies they have come back to the high fields
In Spring their numbers...

Francis Duggan