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July In Lisnaboy

The sun it is hidden behind clouds of gray
And the pleasant aroma of grass mown for silage or hay
Comes wafting to me in the afternoon breeze
That rustles in the leaves of the deciduous trees

Dark clouds above the Boggeraghs tell rain is not far away
In Duhallow it will not be a good hay making day
The swallows chasing flying insects low to the grass fly
On an overcast mid Summer's day in July

Where some of my first lessons of Nature i used to enjoy
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Friday, October 28, 2016
Topic(s) of this poem: places
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from 'rhymeonly'
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