In Late February In Duhallow

In fancy i hear the harsh croaking of the breeding frog
In a water filled drain in a field by the bog
And old Clara obscured in the gray fogs of rain
Memories of late February in Duhallow with me do remain
The cattle in farmshed bellow for silage or hay
In the gray dawning of a cold Winter's day
And the cold chill of Winter in the freshening breeze
Soughing in the bare branches of the deciduous trees
Though you may feel happier now than you've ever felt well may be so
Your past follows you to wherever you go
Though the first breath of Spring to the old fields is near
Late February in Duhallow is a cold time of year
When the harsh winds of Winter in the old fields blow
And the Boggeragh hills wear their white hats of snow.