Forest Hills of Londonderry

A Warm August Day In Old Duhallow
Francis Duggan

A warm August day in old Duhallow far north of here and miles away
And swallows high o'er sunlit meadows scenting sweetly of mown hay
And songbirds silent on the hedgerows in Summer you seldom hear them sing
they always pipe their finest in the prime months of the Spring.

A warm day in August in the fields of Knocknagree
And old gray faced rook is cawing on high branch of elm tree
And the magpie he is chattering as into the grove he fly
From once seen and heard he's one that's not hard to identify.

A warm day by Clara mountain by the old Town of Millstreet
And the skylark is not singing o'er the bracken in the heat
In the warm days of late Summer he doesn't feel the urge to fly
High above the sunlit mountain for to carol in the sky.

A warm day in August and the drains of water dry
And the old man says often in August I've seen water flowing bank high
And the long range weather forecast is the weather will be fine
And that at least another fortnight of warm days and sunshine.

A warm August day in Duhallow and the farmer in short sleeves
And the temperatures quite pleasant around 25 degrees
Still it can't be very long now till the cool winds of change blow
And the Paps and Caherbarnagh will be in their hats of snow.

August Sun
Rhonda Baker

The birth of August is upon us, as the fair haired sun rises in the sky
With songs of the cicada unwinding, the sandhill Cranes sails by
The heat is hovering all around us, we feel heavy in it's grip
To break free from it's bonds, from it's clutches we must rip
Shade gives little relief, to this melting, bending soul
A river full of water, is not enough to quench this foe
Only darkness breaks the curse, that the day could not hide
Relief is but short...and that to must subside
For August is just arriving, her journey's just begun
It's only just beginning; her moment in the sun