The Fields of Annagloor

The fields of Annagloor I fancy I can see them when January is blowing her cold and gray
And the banks of the old river looking hoary and dipper doesn't sing on this January day
And the chirpings of the redwings on bare hedgerows the only sounds of Nature that I hear
Far north of here by those great ancient mountains it is the very coldest time of year.

The fields of Annagloor they look deserted the cattle in sheds now in the farm yard
In the bare fields no grass for them to munch on in the wet ground by cold winds frozen hard,
The warmer days of Spring seem so far distant when the windswept hills wear their white hats of snow
And not a single flower of Nature blooming in a time of year when nothing seem to grow.

The fields of Annagloor I do remember are lush and green when birds sing and nest in May
And dipper in the river he is singing far north of here and many miles away
But Spring gives way to Summer and the Fall gives way to Winter and the river onwards towards the ocean flow
And Mother Nature has outlived the centuries and to the fields the seasons come and go.

The fields of Annagloor are looking hoary and in the farmyard robin he doesn't sing
Though it won't be long now till the dark winged swallows will fly home to their breeding grounds for Spring
Yet around where I sit the southern birds are piping and there is warmth in the freshening breeze
And butterflies are flitting in the sunshine around the blossoms on the sunlit trees.