The Claramore Rill

In fancy i can hear the silver tongued rill
Babbling through Claramore down the fields by the hill
Far north of here even as the bird does fly
In distance perhaps ten thousand miles of sky
Distance seems to disappear when i visualize
I hear the birds sing in an Irish sunrise
When the hawthorns are in their white blooms of the May
I hope the gift of memory with me will stay
Till the reaper will claim the life's breath from me
Something certain to happen whenever that be
But in fancy the Claramore rill i do hear
Though i've not been in Millstreet in Duhallow for many a year
In fields of Claraghatlea with a babble in it's flow
On it's way to the river by ditch and hedgerow.