In The Groves Of My memory (1 Viewer)

The sun blazing bright in the blue and gray sky
And the blackbird he pipes in the parkland nearby
His music does take me to places far away
To cooler and breezy weather in the northern May.

He sings in the parkland though him I can't see
The voice of the blackbird is familiar to me
His golden billed kin bird I knew as a boy
Their beautiful music a thing of great joy.

How come it is always a voice that we know
That wake the old memories of the long ago
When wildflowers bloomed on the ditch of the bohreen
And Nature looked resplendent in her cloak of green.

As I walk in old fields in the wind and the rain
In the groves of my memory the blackbird pipes again
The wildflowers are blooming by the mountain rill
And the skylark is carolling above the old hill.

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