The Find

I took a reed and blew a tune,

And sweet it was and very clear

To be about a little thing

That only few hold dear.

Three times the cuckoo named himself,

But nothing heard him on the hill,

Where I was piping like an elf

The air was very still.

'Twas all about a little thing

I made a mystery of sound,

I found it in a fairy ring

Upon a fairy mound.

This poem taken from "Last Songs" by Francis Ledwidge, Published by Herbert Jenkins, London 1918 [page 63-64]Poem Dated: June 2nd, 1917.Words and spelling verified JS