On The Song Of The Curlew Poem by Francis Duggan

Above the bogland at the twilight of day
The curlew is piping his song of the May
His Beautiful music melodious and clear
Despite time and distance i fancy i hear.

His mottled brown mate rather timid and shy
Camouflaged amongst the bracken in a place that is dry
Sits on her blotched eggs under the open sky
Her young will be flying by early July.

From Matty Owens bog it has followed me here
The song of the curlew to my heart is near
The familiar bubbling notes that i used to know
Our past seems to follow to where-ever we go.

The curlew is piping when i visualize
His beautiful song not hard to recognize
His music is echoing in the twilight gray
Above the quiet bogland from here far away.