Life In Shamrock Glen Poem by Francis Duggan

the happy little singing wren
Who sang it's songs in Shamrock Glen
Has tragically fallen prey
Of the dreaded sparrow hawk today.

It's pleasant song of joyful cheer
Was pleasing to the human ear
And this old sleepy glen will miss
The small wren and it's song of bliss.

It's tiny feathers all that's left
The valley of it's voice bereft
But another wren will come along
To this quiet place and sing it's song.

Further down that sheltery glen
The vixen comes home to her den
Across her back a farm yard hen
Who would not lay an egg again.

The vixen calls it's time to eat
Her cubs come out to get their meat
And the three hungry little beasts
Join their mother in the feast.

The guileful vixen some night soon
Under the lamp of the moon
Will teach her three young cubs the skill
Of how to stalk their prey and kill.

As I left the peaceful Shamrock Glen
My thoughts went to the little wren
And the white leghorn hen
That the foxes ate outside their den.