The Years Have Left Me Slower

The years have left me slower and looking old and gray
And from my first home in Claraghatlea i am living far away
My better years behind me that would seem fair to say
And perhaps i'd feel a stranger in Millstreet Town today.

In Millstreet the changes keep on happening as so i have been told
The boys and girls i went to school with like me are getting old
Whilst some of them migrated others in the old homeplace stay
And some of them are deceased their remains with Nature lay.

Those who claim to know better tell me i waste my time
In penning stuff on Millstreet where i lived in my prime
That without me in the old fields the grass and rushes grow
And the rivers Cails and Finnow to the Blackwater do flow.

Some claim that migrant nostalgia can come from drinking too much beer
And those who claim to love their home country are not compelled to stay here
Yet unadventurous stay at home types could never understand
The love that many migrants feel for their homeplace and homeland.

An ageing bloke from Claraghatlea is all that i can be
And everywhere i travel to my past does go with me
I live far south of Clara Hill and the fields by Millstreet Town
Where i penned my first verses and daydreamed of literary renown.