On The Gneeves Windmills Poem by Francis Duggan

The Gneeves I remember was a quiet old bog
In cool and damp weather a place of gray fog
In Summer there men shlauned out dark peat for to dry
For to warm their homes when Winter winds howled in the sky

But going by news from Duhallow far away
Gneeves is a different bogland today
The huge blades on the wind-mills whirring around
Creating loud noise on the once quiet high ground.

Though experts on such have been known to disagree
For wildlife wind farms not a good idea
Those blades spinning in the wind birds have been known to kill
Will many feathered flyers die on Gneeves hill?

How many skylarks will survive for to sing
In the sky o'er Gneeves for to welcome the Spring?
An environmentally friendly form of energy many are known to say
But for all forms of electricity some price to pay.

It is a known fact and facts never lie
That in the spinning blades of the wind-mills many birds do die
But then suppose everyone does look at things differently
And what seems good to you may not be so to me.