And I have not been back there for many a day
It has been more than three decades since I saw an Irish sunset
And many I used to know for many years I have not met
On a garden hedge in the prime of the northern Spring
I may never again hear a mottled brown dunnock sing
Where from a boy into a man I did grow
Of hedge dwellers a few things about them of I did get to know
I may never visit Duhallow again
When the breeding frogs are croaking in ever water logged drain
When the cool winds of the Boggeraghs above the old fields does blow
And the waterways swollen from March rain bank high does flow
The wanderlust was in me for places elsewhere
So I left old Duhallow for the big World out there
And if ever I go back it will be in Spring
When the nest building wild birds do whistle and sing.
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