In Mary O's Bog

I only say here what i've heard others say
That Mary O's Bog is a woodland today
Where in Spring wood pigeons build their stick nests on the pine trees
That gently sway and sough in the freshening breeze
That blow from the hills before the onset of rain
When the shy breeding frog can be heard croak in the drain
In Mary O's Bog far north by sea or sky
In April when the barn swallows O'er their old home fields fly
Years ago above Mary O's Bog on a calm Spring night
I recall the drummings of the male snipe whilst in flight
But that is going back many Seasons in time
When i was much younger just past my life's prime
The pine trees that were planted in Mary O's Bog are tall trees today
The changes keep happening as some like to say.