Today Old Duhallow

I left old Duhallow but it followed me
And in my flights of fancy i often do see
The Boggeragh Ranges in their hats of snow
When the cold winds of Winter in the gray sky do blow
And in visualizations i often visit Duhallow in Spring
When the male nesting wild birds do whistle and sing
And the cattle on lush grass chewing their cuds do lay
And the hawthorns looking resplendent in their white blooms of the May
The sweet scent of freshly mowed grass for silage or hay
Blowing in the breeze of a sunny Summer's day
And in the chill of late Autumn the deciduous trees
Are losing their brown leaves to the freshening breeze
The snow hats of the Boggeraghs in fancy i see
Today old Duhallow is living in me.