Mozart # A Concerto
Fierce howling winds
Blow from the Atlantic
Curates and Parsons
And fiddlers are frantic
Windmills are spinning
On far away hills
As waves hit Bundoran
In thunderous spills
St. Mullins is waiting
For news from the Barrow
Limerick’s ploughed gardens
Are ready to harrow
The rich halls of Tara
Where harps did resound
Looked over the plains
Of Hibernia’s Royal ground
Where did young Mozart
Learn how to play?
He learned from the blackbirds
And linnets each day
Young Heaney the poet
Learned how to dig
By watching his father
Stoop slice and jig
I can play a concerto
Self taught may I add
Some reels and some hornpipes
Some airs sweet or sad
How shrill is the call
From pheasant and tern
How dappled the trout
That glints in the Erne
A poet will wander
In bliss all alone
Then pen lines of musings
Before reaching home.
To be contd……!
tomclancy 