Spring Is In The Old Land Poem by Francis Duggan

Above the old brown bogland a small speck in the sky
And upwards ever upwards he carols as he fly
And piping ever piping till in clouds he disappear
The little brown skylark keeps carolling though his song I barely hear.

The farmer out checking on his sheep he hear the skylark sing
This morning he feel happier at the awakening of the Spring
He wears a heavy jumper to keep out the morning chill
His wife breakfast is cooking in the bungalow by the rill.

The redbreast robin singing his voice one can't mistake
One of the feathered songsters to be heard whistling at daybreak
And the daisies in the old fields their white and yellow showing
And everywhere looks lush and greener and the grass is quickly growing.

In the grove the magpie chattering his voice sounds rather shrill
And the black faced horned ewes are bleating in the high field by the hill
Their young lambs with a zest for life around them romp and play
They make the most of their brief youth time quick to tick away.

The familiar song of the chaffinch it cannbot be mistook
And amongst the knee high rushes the shy cock pheasant cuck
And nesting birds are piping for to greet the dawn of day
And Spring is in the old Land for her annual three months stay.