In Late April Far Away Poem by Francis Duggan

Above the old fields swallows fly to and fro
And amongst the rank rushes the cock pheasant crow
And nesting songbirds are piping in the woods all the day
In Late April by the bracken hills far away,
Bluebells, primrose and snowdrops bloom on ditch of bohreen
And wildflowers in their billions in the fields to be seen
And in fancy she can hear the babbling rill
Flowing down to the river from the field by the hill
The migrant does not find it hard to visualize
Above the rank rushes she see the lark rise
He carols so sweetly as upwards he does fly
Till he becomes a small speck in the gray morning sky
And the red breasted robin his finest song sing
In his territory in the prime of the Spring.