The Fields Of Lisnaboy

The migrant redwing thrushes from the bare hedgerows fly
And the dark rain clouds of February go slowly drifting by
And the lark today is silent he doesn't carol in the sky
High up there in the cloud world o'er the fields of Lisnaboy.

But I recall the summer the bright days in July
When in the sunlit meadow we tossed the hay to dry
And the robin he was singing on the leafy hedge nearby
And the little lark was carolling o'er the fields of Lisnaboy.

The migrant redwing thrushes they fly north for the spring
And in their northern homeland they build their nests and sing
And in their native woodlands for food their nestlings cry
Far from their wintering hedgerows in the fields of Lisnaboy

I learnt much from Nature and in May the leafy trees
Smelt fragrant in their blossoms and the wild born honey bees
Were busy gathering nectar from the flowers by the hedgerow
In the fields of old Duhallow far away and long ago.

The years go by so quickly and the Seasons come and go
And the wildflowers bloom from late March on when the grass growing breezes blow
And the swallows are back home again and they twitter as they fly
O'er the fields and groves and hedgerows of green old Lisnaboy.