By Finnow The White River

Home to the badger and silver backed crow
The old rushy fields where Finnow waters flow
On towards the Blackwater it winds on it's way
It never stops babbling by night and by day

The memories remain of nice evenings in May
Above Matty Owens bog in the twilight gray
The male snipe above his breeding ground
With his wings and his tail created a fast drumming like sound

In Finnow the white river all through the Spring
The dark brown white breasted dippers every day does sing
Though they have not been blessed with a beautiful song
Once seen and once heard you never again get them wrong

Good memories live on as long as your gift of memory with you does stay
As your only link to the past as the wise one does say
In Finnow the white river i fancy i see
The dark moorhen out swimming with her young dark family

Of the fields of the rook and the streams of the brown trout
The lure of the wander did bring me far south
But Finnow's familiar babble in me does remain
And in moments of nostalgia i do hear it again.