The Old Glasheen Rill

Through fields of Inchaleigh and Claraghatlea and by ditch and hedgerow
Towards the Finnow River with a babble in it's flow
It journeys with a tongue that is never still
The small waterway known as the Glasheen Rill
Long before the ticking of time became our foe
We hunted for elvers there decades ago
With jam jars attached to a nylon string
As is often said of youth it does have it's fling
Though good memories of what was slow to fade away
The boys of the fifties the ageing men of today
And long after the last memory of me has gone
The old Glasheen Rill will be babbling on
To the Finnow and Blackwater to the Atlantic Shore
The old waterways will flow forever more.