It Matters None To Me

It matters none to me not one bit at all
If i'll never again hear the curlew's flute like call
Above the brown bogland from here far away
When the hawthorns are in their white blooms of the May

Where i grew to love Nature when i was a boy
The memory remain of my great sense of joy
On hearing the song of the lark as upwards he did fly
Fading to a musical speck in the gray morning sky

And only the memories with me do remain
Of male robin singing in the wind and rain
And the harsh distinctive caw of the silver back crow
When cool April winds from the mountains did blow.

The people of my first homeplace though them i may never more see
I retain pictures of them in my memory
Some of them with the departed their remains do lay
For me too there will be a last night and day.

We must live in the now for the past is the past
And few things in life ever do seem to last
What has been remains as a memory of the forever gone
And the clock on our lives ever keeps ticking on.

I am growing old far south of Hibernia's shore
And further from Clara above Claramore
Yet in my flights of fancy the silver tongued rill
Is babbling downland from the field by the hill

The old rill that outlived the Seasons of time
Flowing in the fields that first inspired me to rhyme
That joins with the Cails near where Cails and Finnow do meet
In the old rushy fields near the Town of Millstreet.