I Must Be Getting Older Poem by Francis Duggan

The chill of Winter in my bones these last few days seem colder
Though maybe there's a lesson here that I must be getting older
And I've less bearing to the cold for I can well remember
That I did not feel the cold as much in Ireland in December.

And of course it is much colder there when northern winds are blowing
And the river through the windswept fields is often bank high flowing
And storms howl in the leafless trees and hedgerows bared by weather
And Hereford steers hunched in the cypress grove and they as tough as leather.

And to myself I have to smile when I hear some complaining
Of how the weather has been cold of late and how heavy it's been raining
Where I once lived a day like today would not be seen as unpleasant
Though howling gale and lashing rain drown the voice of cucking pheasant.

In the Arctic where the Eskimos live in a Land of snow blizzards and storm
To them this weather would seem mild in fact they'd say 'tis warm
In temperatures of minus forty they hunt and fish and of frostbite they don't suffer
The hardiest race on Planet Earth and you won't find any tougher.

The chill of Winter in my bones I must be getting older
For I come from a northern Land where it is far wetter and colder
Where river often in brown flood through bare fields bank high flowing
And mountains wear their hats of snow when winter gales are blowing.