My Pleasant Flights Of Fancy Poem by Francis Duggan

My pleasant flights of fancy to me a thing of joy
I hear the skylark singing o'er the fields of Lisnaboy
And in the newly mown meadows the pleasant scent of hay
The places of my younger years I visit every day
The gift of visualization it is a marvellous thing
The dunnock in the hedgerow how sweetly he does sing
The voices of Nature's minstrels in places far away
From my heart they are not distant I hear them every day
The dipper he is singing where the river meets the rill
And I hear the black face horned sheep bleating on the slopes of Clara hill
Overlooking the green countryside bordering Millstreet Town
Where I spent my better years of life when my hair was dark brown
And in my pleasant flights of fancy the old Finnow I do see
Flowing slowly down to Drishane to the Blackwater to the sea.