Amidst the rolling hills so green,
Where ancient oaks and rivers gleam,
The whispering winds of Ireland sing,
A song of natureâs endless spring.
The heather on the moorland blooms,
Beneath the silver clouds that loom,
A tapestry of wild delight,
Weaves through the day, then into night.
By lakes so clear, where swans glide free,
Reflections dance in harmony,
With every breath of morning dew,
The soul of Ireland feels anew.
And in the valleys, deep and wide,
Where shadows of old legends bide,
The spirit of the land endures,
In every leaf, in every moor.