Wanderer's Lament In Shrone Poem by Francis Duggan

The wild and bitter winds of Winter moan
Around the bleak and barren hills of Shrone
And here am I a wandering man alone
With just a little tent to serve me as a home.

A canvas tent beside a naked tree
Is the only thing I've got to shelter me
A canvas tent that's weather stained and old
That keeps out rain but can't keep out the cold.

A sack of straw my bed on which to lie,
A sleeping bag to keep me warm and dry,
A sleeping bag that's moth eaten and thin
That on cold frosty nights lets the cold in.

Last night I had a pleasurable dream
I lay beside a peaceful sunlit stream
And there beside me on the grass so green
Lay the one I love my dark eyed woman Noreen.

The chaffinch piped his wild and merry air
As I ran my fingers through her raven hair,
I could feel her fingers running down my spine
And feel her hot lips pressing against mine.

Tears glistened in her lovely sloe dark eyes
As we clung together under sunny skies
And then adown her pretty face flowed tears of joy
And a robin whistled on a hedge nearby.

But then I awoke to stark reality,
I'd been living in a land of fantasy
I awoke to the winds lonesome lament
And the pattering of hail stones on my tent.

And here am I three miles or maybe four
From the Kerry Town that borders Cork Rathmore
Listening to the wind lament and moan
Around the bleak and barren hills of Shrone.

Come tomorrow my well used of travel feet
Will walk the flags of Rathmore and Millstreet
And tomorrow night I'll pitch my tent and lay me down
Somewhere between Millstreet and Mallow Town.