Back There In Old Duhallow

Back there in old Duhallow at the dawning of this late November day
By the banks of the river the grass is hoary gray
From the frost that lingered overnight the air has a heavy chill
And dark rain clouds are gathering above old Clara hill.

Upon a naked lower branch of a horse chestnut tree
His feathers fluffed against the cold the blackbird sits silently
Ahead of him many cold and wet and hungry days from now until the Spring
When with his mate he will have his breeding territory and he will feel the urge to sing.

Back there in old Duhallow now the windswept hedgerows bare
And the chirpings of the migrant redwing thrushes in the cold morning air
On their wintering grounds from the colder north it must be cold up there?
For to escape the cruel Winter climate of their birth-place they have to go elsewhere.

Back there in old Duhallow now the river bank high flow
And the ancient Boggeragh mountains in their seasonal hats of snow
And the voices of the dunnock and the robin can't be heard on the hedgerow
And one can sense the hunger in the plaintive caw of the rook, jackdaw and gray crow

Back there in old Duhallow now north of here and far away
The fields along the river with frost are hoary gray
And the birds of song are silent towards the end of the old year
And gathering dark clouds above the hill tell rain or sleet is near.