Farming Brigid

She lives alone near
A wee stone bridge,
A farming woman
Surrounded by
Acres of colour.

Her husband died
A few years before
But any visitor was
Warmly welcomed
At her door...

From early morning
At the coming of light
She could be seen
Milking cows or feeding
Others in sight.

She planted potatoes
Not far from an O’Cahan
Fort and at autumn would
Be seen gathering as if
Each was a heart.

As stated she lives alone
Strolling the road of life
As if farming was her God
In a little farm near to
The Dungiven Road.

Oh, little Brigid, in admiring
You we hope you are aware
Arising from your dedication
To farming in the direction
Of the Sperrin heights.