Of January In Duhallow

The cattle in the farmyard shed bellowing for silage and hay
In the frosty dawn of a gray January day
The sparrows chirping on the rafters of the galvanize timber shed
Waiting in expectation of scraps of food and crumbs of bread
That the housewife throws out after breakfast every day
That sparrows do survive on little does seem true to say
January in Duhallow a cold and wet time of year
Where birdsong one cannot expect for to hear
Robin perched on a bare branch feathers fluffed to keep out the cold
The northern Winters take toll on some young birds and on some of the old
The cold freshening wind from the mountains foretelling of rain
Of January in Duhallow the memories with me remain.