Tuesday, June 26, 2012

I Won't Be Going

I won't be going to that far Land to see the flowers of May
And hear the chaffinch singing in the leafy wood all day
And watch the swallows o'er the fields chase insects as they fly
And hear the lark above the hill a minstrel of the sky.

Were i born to the wordsmith trade i would feel glad to sing
Of beauty i have known and seen in the far northern Spring
The song of the curlew in the bog i still can visualize
And yet his whereabouts 'twould seem he always could disguise.

I daydreamed I'd become a poet but few dreams do come true
But as some would say i had a go to give myself my due
In the fields and woods by my old home my love for Nature grew
In June the young birds left their nest and through the woodland flew.

I won't be going to that far Land when May is in her bloom
And the woods and fields and hedgerows scent of Nature's own perfume
But i can visualize and see the valley lush and green
And the bluebells and primroses bloom along the old bohreen.

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