Saint Patrick's Day has come and gone,
And spring is drawing nigh.
The barren trees sway restlessly
Beneath the sullen sky.
In cluttered fields the last year weeds
Stand broken and forlorn,
Upon the rolling hill side
Lay crushed tangled stalks of corn.
A mother sheep calls to her young,
It must have gone astray.
They love to clan together
As they frisk about in play.
Each day the grass grows greener;
Through the air is cold and drear,
There seems no end to waiting
When it comes this time of year.