Old Duhallow Again

I may never meet old Duhallow again
Or in Spring hear the breeding frogs croaking in the waterlogged drain
Or see the Boggeraghs half cloaked in the gray fogs of rain
Of such things memories are all I have left to retain
But such memories to me remain a source of joy
Of where I grew to love Nature when I was a boy
In fancy I can hear a male pink breasted chaffinch sing
On a leafy birch tree in the prime of the Spring
When in the old fields Nature has her flowers on display
And the hawthorns are cloaked on their white blooms of the May
And the swallows are chirping in the sky blue and gray
Good memories of such beauty a lifetime does stay
Good old memories die hard as the wise one does say
And I often think of Duhallow from here far away.