On this morning in June the trout jumping for flies
In Kippagh mountain lake where the Cails river rise
And the skylark he seems a small speck in the sky
As carolling upwards to the gray clouds he fly.
A poet of such beauty would feel inspired to write
A poem for future generations to read and recite
For by Nature the poets and artists are inspired
And of sketching her and of singing her praises they never grow tired.
I still can imagine the beauty I have seen
When the bluebells bloom on the ditch of the bohreen
And young birds in the hedges are chirping all day
And wildflowers are in bloom in old fields far away.
And few would mistake the dipper's scratchy song
He sings in the stream where the rapids babble along
On towards the big river that flows to the sea
Where-ever I go to my past is with me.
The songs of the robin and chaffinch so pleasant to hear
It is such a beautiful time of the year
And though the sky this morning is looking quite gray
Summer has arrived till September to stay.
In Kippagh mountain lake where the Cails river rise
And the skylark he seems a small speck in the sky
As carolling upwards to the gray clouds he fly.
A poet of such beauty would feel inspired to write
A poem for future generations to read and recite
For by Nature the poets and artists are inspired
And of sketching her and of singing her praises they never grow tired.
I still can imagine the beauty I have seen
When the bluebells bloom on the ditch of the bohreen
And young birds in the hedges are chirping all day
And wildflowers are in bloom in old fields far away.
And few would mistake the dipper's scratchy song
He sings in the stream where the rapids babble along
On towards the big river that flows to the sea
Where-ever I go to my past is with me.
The songs of the robin and chaffinch so pleasant to hear
It is such a beautiful time of the year
And though the sky this morning is looking quite gray
Summer has arrived till September to stay.
