Have you ever heard of Mongevlin,
Of Brogan's and Carrickmore?
They are not far from St. Johnston
Upon the Foyle shore.
The suns shines on St. Johnston,
The skylark's on the wing.
The cuckoo calls from the sweet Maymore,
For it is now the Spring.
The salmon fishers are homeward bound,
And, as they wend their way,
They "fish" the "Bar", the "Stick", Cloughfin.
On down to Carrigans Bay.
And though they moil, and strive, and toil,
Their return, it is but small
To keep their humble homes intact
It surely takes it all.
When the fishing it is over
They have to go away,
Across the sea to far-off shores,
Their dear ones have to stay.
For man must work to earn his bread,
It is laid down, they say.
They work, and save, and trust in God,
To bring them back some day.
There are those alas! who ne'er return.
To their dear native shore.
They are with God, Who loves us all,
With Him, for evermore.
And now my poem's ended,
I trust, it joy, shall bring.
To everyone along the Foyle
This happy time of Spring.
JAMES D. SCOTT.
May 16, 1957