The winds of early Spring blew with a cold chill
Down the wooded slopes of old Mushera hill
Most days there damp and cold even too cold to snow
Where I cut down pine trees many Seasons ago.
Eoin Connors, Gene Buckley and Dan Joe Kelleher to me worked nearby
We were in wet weather gear the days were seldom dry
In a hard enough way for to earn one's pay
I wonder are they felling pine trees today?
By Mushera Mountain from here far away
In weather that is often chilly and gray
Though like me in life they perhaps too have moved on
We must live in the now for the past it has gone.
But it was nice by Mushera mountain in May
The cooing of the wood pigeons in my memory stay
The call of the migratory cuckoo was echoing near
A voice that is always quite pleasant to hear.
The male robin sang to proclaim territory
The sun on his red breast I fancy I see
By Mushera Mountain in the latter Spring
When wildflowers are blooming and nesting birds sing.
Down the wooded slopes of old Mushera hill
Most days there damp and cold even too cold to snow
Where I cut down pine trees many Seasons ago.
Eoin Connors, Gene Buckley and Dan Joe Kelleher to me worked nearby
We were in wet weather gear the days were seldom dry
In a hard enough way for to earn one's pay
I wonder are they felling pine trees today?
By Mushera Mountain from here far away
In weather that is often chilly and gray
Though like me in life they perhaps too have moved on
We must live in the now for the past it has gone.
But it was nice by Mushera mountain in May
The cooing of the wood pigeons in my memory stay
The call of the migratory cuckoo was echoing near
A voice that is always quite pleasant to hear.
The male robin sang to proclaim territory
The sun on his red breast I fancy I see
By Mushera Mountain in the latter Spring
When wildflowers are blooming and nesting birds sing.
