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Hunting the Wren
par
Natalie Merchant
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Sharp is the wind Cold is the rain Harsh is the livelong day Upon the wide open plain By Donnelly's hollow Under sod gorse and furze There lies a young wren oh By the saints she was cursed The wren is a small bird How pretty she sings She bested the eagle When she hid in its wings With sticks and with stones All among the small mounds They come from all over To hunt the wren on the wide open ground They flock round the soldiers In jackets so red For barrack room favours Pennies and bread The soldier is rough In anger or fun He causes much bloodshed With his big musket gun The birds of the earth The beasts of the field By spite and by fury Are people revealed Attacked in the village Spat on in town They come from all over To hunt the wren on the wide open ground The wren is a small bird Though blamed for much woe Her form is derided Wherever she goes With cold want and whiskey She soon is run down Her body paraded On a staff through the town A rag for her ceiling The sod was her floor She chose the cold open plain o'er The dark workhouse door With two broken wings And feathers so brown They come from all over To hunt the wren on the wide open ground
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