The Curlew He Pipes In My Memory Again

In my flights of fancy I fancy I hear
The song of the curlew melodious and clear
Above the brown bogland from here far away
When the bog cotton bloom in the prime of the May
With bracken and bog cotton growing all around
His partner sits on her blotched eggs on the boggy ground
In their nesting Season the curlews like most birds are secretive kind
And their simple ground nest is not easy to find
In the Northern Spring just after sunrise
The male curlew above his breeding territory flies
His bubbling notes are so pleasant to hear
A voice I did love in the Spring of the year
On our journeys through life such thoughts we retain
And the curlew he pipes in my memory again.