Loughgall

Loughgall, a quiet place where green hills sigh,
Where ancient stone and modern hope entwine.
St. Mary’s spire looks down on lane and sty,
While whispers of the past still softly twine.

The river drifts like silver thread through vale,
Reflecting skies that shift from grey to blue.
Children’s laughter rides the gentle gale,
And orange lilies bloom in summer’s hue.

Yet memory lingers in the furrowed field,
Where brave souls stood against the night’s cold dread.
Their courage etched in every stone‑built shield,
A tribute sung where quiet footsteps tread.

So Loughgall stands, both tender and austere,
A village heart that beats both calm and clear.