The evening sun has fallen behind those hills of grey, and the curlews’s plaintive piping, lilts out at close of day, ah! I hear the sounds I’m waiting for – the eager horses’ jog, as the men come home at evening, on the road up from the bog. Now they’re coming ‘round the bend, I hear their voices soft and clear, as they sing a merry chorus that would gladden any ear; this must be the boy I’m waiting for, yes, that’s his collie dog, and he rides a chestnut pony on the road up from the bog. When he sees me waving to him, he speeds the pony’s pace, I can see the boyish laughter breaking o’er his handsome face, like a chieftain of old Erin, ‘gainst the evenings purple fog, rides the boy that I will marry, on the road up from the bog. Years have passed, we’re old and grey, we have known life’s joys and pain, but we always did keep smiling even when sunshine changed to rain, and now we wait together ‘til we hear a barking dog, then we shuffle out to see the folks, on the road up from the bog.
Published Limerick Leader, 1941