On Hearing A Skylark

The skylark above the brown scrubland how sweetly he carols today
Just hearing him in flights of fancy takes me north of here and far away
To that green far northern Country when wildflowers were blooming in May
The air borne skylark was carolling like a small speck in the sky blue to gray.

A familiar voice in me stirs up old memories that I thought had long gone to decay
And though I'm just your average poetaster one with rhyme words who likes to play
The skylarks who sing over Clara they often inspired me to rhyme
When I was a much younger fellow and that's going back decades of time.

I had my first lessons in Nature though of Nature so little I know
Far north in that green fertile Country where Finnow to the Blackwater flow
Though back there I now would feel a stranger and young people of me would say
Who is he the balding old fellow he looks so time worn and gray?

In the grove the chaffinches were singing a mile west of old Millstreet Town
In Spring when I was a young daydreamer and dreaming my dreams of renown
With youth comes the power to imagine and to the youthful mind nothing is impossible 'twould seem
But age has left me disappointed and racked by self doubt and low self esteem.

The skylark above the brown scrubland is carolling in the clear sky
For him for to proclaim his borders up towards the clouds he has to fly
And hearing him stirred up old memories of life in the Northern Spring
When the fields wear their colours of Nature and nesting birds whistle and sing.