‘... the children, at the first hint of Spring, cast down the toys bought for them at Christmas, and came out to play in the open air — out to play all the games I knew so well. I noticed how little the games and rhymes had changed since I played here, the tunes remained … Continue reading Games I Play
A speckled thrush upon a bush pours forth her matin hymn A new-born hope has in her woke; with her 'tis not a whim. Some wondrous thrills her bosom fills - what can she do but sing When back again o'er wood and plain has come the joyful Spring. Tomás Ó Muircheartaigh holding a bird. … Continue reading The Joyful Spring