Sunday, February 12, 2012

Memories Of Matty Owens Bog

In Matty Owens bog i fancy i hear
The flute of the curlew in the Spring of the year
As above his borders he is flying around
Proclaiming what to him is his breeding ground

Where i often hunted with brown Pudsy the dog
She often chased hares and foxes in Matty Owens bog
And though Pudsy was gallant in her every chase
The pursued for her too quick and her did outpace

In the quiet of the morning the lowing of a cow
And the dipper did sing in the River Finnow
Where Nature to me was a wonder of joy
In Matty Owens bog when i was a boy

Old Pudsy she died near fifty years ago
The passing of time becomes everyone's foe
The grand-daughter of Jack her praises i have sung
Our family dog when i was quite young

The memories are all with us that does remain
And though in fancy i visit old places again
Matty Owens bog is now just a memory to me
Of a long gone time and of what used to be.

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