Wednesday, July 4, 2012

Since I Left Claraghatlea

Since i left Claraghatlea a mile from Millstreet Town
I've traveled through many a countryside flat, wide and brown
But for  my years i've  little to show in financial gain
And only the memories with me do remain

Of old Clara  cloaked in the gray fogs of rain
And faces and places i will not see again
And though nostalgia in me has died the memory i retain
In early Spring of the breeding frogs croaking in the water filled drain

I penned my first rhymes of old fields far away
But far south of them i am growing old and gray
I realize now i will never be a poet
Or even one worthy of minor literary note

Where the flute of the magpie does herald the day
The pee wee does sing in the park by the bay
And clusters of yellow flowers on the golden wattle  tree
Even in Winter there is great natural beauty in this Southern Country

And though memories of  what was till death i'll retain
Perhaps i will never see Clara again
Or hear the dipper sing in the ever flowing rill
That babbles to the river down the field by the hill.

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