A Coomlogane Christmas

The fields on either side of the Finnow cloaked in gray
And the turkey cooking for dinner on Christmas Day
And farmers say the frost is quite severe
But such expected at this time of year.

The housebound cows bellow for silage or hay
And little children with their new toys play
And robins by the back door wait for bread
On Christmas Day they too like to be fed.

The church bell ring in nearby Millstreet Town
For the last mass the seconds tolling down
And last night snow fell high on Clara hill
And Coomlogane bare to the winter chill

The wagtails and pipits back in the farm yard
And chaffinches and redpolls too when weather hard
All through the day they eat morsels that fill
Of invertebrates and hay seeds and grain spill.

Near 2 P.M. the roast turkey is eat
The family enjoy the tender meat
To be followed by plum pudding and tea
Some old traditions live on in the twentieth first century.

Last night light snow fell on the higher ground
And the hills are looking whiter all around
And lights are flickering on the Christmas tree
And children watching Santa on T.V.

Though Winter winds may blow a heavy chill
In Coomlogane tradition living still
And fields along the river cloaked in gray
Add to mystique of an Irish Christmas Day.

by Francis Duggan

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