Duhallow In Mid January Poem by Francis Duggan

The Boggeragh mountains old as time wear their winter hats of snow
And through quiet lands of Duhallow the old Blackwater flow
The leafless grove bereft of birdsong and bare looking the hedgerow
And from the cold north countries the icy cold winds blow.

In cowshed in the farmyard the cows are bellowing for hay
Their appetites much keener on a frosty winter's day
And farmer feeling worried his cow fodder supply low
And two months yet or maybe more till grass commence to grow.

In bare fields the migrant redwings they chirp but never sing
They sing their songs in their northern homes in mountain woods in Spring
And robins, thrushes and blackbirds by the back door compete
For after dinner scraps thrown out by housewife, bread crumbs and morsels of meat.

I could tell of Springtime in Duhallow from early april on
The nesting birds are singing and winter's coldness gone
And grass growth near it's peak time and frogs croak in the drain
The memory of such beauty a whole lifetime remain.

But it's Duhallow in mid january that I speak of today
When Boggeragh peaks are snow capped and frosty fields are gray
And rook with feathers fluffed against the cold caws on bare elm bough
For cold winter of snow, hail and storm is in Duhallow now.

Through the bare fields of Duhallow Blackwater flow bank high
And the sun can't seem to penetrate through the heavily clouded sky
And the migrant redwing thrushes they chirp but never sing
And ten long weeks or maybe more before the blooms of spring.