In Those Old Rushy Fields

O'er an old rushy field in Duhallow like a tiny speck in the sky
A little brown skylark is carolling as up towards the gray clouds he fly
Till out of my sight he has vanished though his pleasant song I still hear
In the silent sky his voice echo so beautifully natural and clear.

In those old rushy fields west of the Town of Millstreet where old river Finnow ever flow
On his Journey to the Blackwater of some of Nature's ways I got to know
The tiny wren with the big bird song he often sang in the hedgerow
But the years have left me looking older and that was a long time ago.

The gray crow cawed on the old beech tree his voice one could never mistake
And on a cypress tree in the garden the robin he piped at daybreak
The old bird has gone to the reaper his descendants the songsters of today
Back then I was a young man of twenty but the years have left me looking gray.

In those old rushy fields west of Millstreet 'suppose they have not changed in time'
I fell in love with Mother Nature and I became addicted to rhyme,
I fancy I hear the song of the chaffinch and the gentle babble of the rill
As it winds it's way down to the river through the fields at the foot of the hill