Wednesday, June 17, 2015

It Is Only In Fancy

It is only in fancy i see Clara Hill
And hear the babble of the silver tongued rill
Flowing through Claraghatlea from high Claramore
At the start of it's journey to the Atlantic shore

It is only in fancy i hear the male chaffinch sing
On a leafy birch tree in the prime of the Spring
When the hawthorns are cloaked in their white blossoms of May
Pleasant memories of the fields in their wildflowers are with me today

Where i grew to love Nature when i was a boy
And learning of her ways today i enjoy
Yet the more i learn of her the more i come to realize
That i know so little of her ways this is not a surprise

It is only in fancy that old friends i do meet
In one of the pubs in the Town of Millstreet
From them the yearn of the wander did lure me away
And all i have of them are good memories today

It is only in fancy i hear the male pheasant crow
In a rushy field near where Finnow waters flow
And only the good memories with me does remain
Of faces and places i will not see again.

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