The cool winds of Spring from the Boggeraghs do blow
And in a flat and rushy field near where Finnow does flow
The mating call of the bird all country people do know
Hidden amongst a cluster of rushes the shy male pheasant crow
The hawthorns are cloaked in their white blooms of the May
And a musical speck amongst the clouds of gray
The little brown feathered minstrel of the northern sky
The skylark is singing as upwards he does fly
Born in a ground nest in Spring he takes to wing
And to proclaim his borders in the sky he does sing
The cattle out of wintering sheds of months of eating silage and hay
On nutritious young grass gaining weight by the day
The old fields have never been looking so green
And Duhallow at her very finest is seen.
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