Francis Duggan Silver Poems

In fancy i can hear the silver tongued rill
From high Claramore in view of Clara hill
Rippling to the river with a voice never still
On it's ocean bound journey it flows with a will
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It's kind live in the high woods near the hills where the bracken does grow
The bird hated by sheep farmers the silver back crow
Since to kill newly born lambs it's kind are known
No mercy to them by the farmers are shown
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In my wild flights of fancy i hear the silver tongued rill
Flow babbling to the river down the high field by the hill
When the wildflowers in the old fields are quite beautiful to see
And the male chaffinch is singing on the leafy alder tree
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Only in fancy i can hear the silver tongued rill
Babbling down the high green fields by Clara Hill
At the start of it's journey to the Atlantic shore
Some 80 k's from it's source maybe more
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The silver tongued rill from the mountain in my flights of fancy i hear
A voice that i have not forgotten to my thoughts remain ever near
On down to the flatter green country by many a ditch and hedgerow
To join with the ocean bound river with a babble it ever does flow
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In fancy i can hear the silver back crow
Cawing on highest branch of a beech tree near where Finnow waters flow
Through fields flat and rushy babbling on it's way
On towards the Blackwater bound for Youghal Bay
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It cannot fly with a drooping left wing
Grounded on the beach it does seem such a sad thing
The disabled silver gull that i did see today
For dog or cat or fox is now easy prey
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The voice of a bird that I used to know
In fancy I hear the loud cawing of the silver back crow
in the fading twilight on a sycamore tree
Our past seems to follow us would you not agree?
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The mountain sheep farmers have nothing nice for to say
Of the much maligned birds of feathers of dark and gray
And this in itself does not seem a surprise
Since of weak new born lambs they do pluck out the eyes
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A stranger in these parts him none seem to know
The man from the hill of the silver backed crow
In this town his will be a terminal stay
And here he is not going to grow old and gray.
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I am from the place of the silver back crow
Where the Cails and Finnow to the Blackwater flow
Thousands of sky miles north of where i live today
In anyone's language that is a long way
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From the heights of Claramore in a voice that is never still
In fancy i can hear the silver tongue rill
It's babble is with me from fields far away
Good memories of what was till death in one stay
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To the sheep farmers of Duhallow where i lived years ago
It's species of corvid was looked on as a foe
In fancy i hear the loud harsh caws of a bird i used to know
One of the feathered kind known to many as the silver back crow
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Little silver gull hop up near me looking for hunger quenching bite
And the poor half starving fellow has a great big appetite
But I don't have food to give him sorry little bird I say
Though I'll be back here tomorrow with some bread to give away.
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They live in the woods of the foothills where the bracken does grow
The bane of sheep farmers the silver backed crow
Since of new born lambs they do pluck out the eyes
By their actions to the loathing of mountain sheep men for them they give rise
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'The far off fields are green' that saying I can recall
I first heard it when I was knee high tall
The silver haired old fellow said to me
The fields are greener beyond Knocknagree.
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Since any mercy to frail new born lambs they never do show
No friend to the farmer the silver back crow
By plucking out their eyes young lambs they do kill
To predate on the weak is part of their survival skill
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He hopped on lake shore pity the poor thing
As he could not fly he had a drooping wing
And the future look bleak for bird that cannoy fly
And one more silver gull condemned to die.
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The silver tongued rill inland from the foothills does flow
In the fields of the rook and the silver backed crow
Ever babbling onward by night and by day
To the river that flows to the sea far away
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I am from the fields of the silver backed crow
And of hedgehog whose only means of defense is to know
How to roll into a tight ball it's sharp quills sticking out
For dog, fox or cat who attacks it to receive a painful and a bloodied snout
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No mercy to weakly young lambs they do show
The kind of bird hated by sheep farmers the silver back crow
Who of them do not have any kind word to say
They pluck out the eyes of frail young lambs and leave them to die in a slow and painful way
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In fancy i can hear the silver back crow
Cawing on a beech tree near where Finnow waters flow
On towards the Blackwater to the sea far away
In a tongue never silent by night or by day
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I often hear them singing on a moonlit night
And in the gray dawn and the fading twilight
The silver billed magpies birds I often do hear
In fact they do sing every day of the year
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In fancy I can hear the silver tongued rill
That flows to the river down the field by the hill
By ditches and hedgerows it babbles along
And by groves where in Springtime the birds are on song
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Of the up and down times of life he is one who does know
The man from the fields of the silver backed crow
Though since he has been a migrant for more than fifty years
For his long gone youth he does not have any tears
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Compassion for them the sheep farmers cannot show
They hate with a vengeance every silver back crow
Since of newly born lambs they do pluck out the eyes
Their hatred of them they don't try to disguise.
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The silver billed magpie is piping in the gray of a cool Winter's day
It pipes in all months and all weather in feathers of black and white to gray
His kind amongst Australia's finest wild songsters they sing every day of the year
The beautiful song of the magpie is always a joy for to hear
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