All I Can Be

The wanderlust has made a migrant of me
Yet a Claraghatlea fellow is all i can be
In view of old Clara west of Millstreet Town
Where i used to live  when my hair was dark brown
Sometimes in flights of fancy i can hear the rill
From the high Claramore fields babbling on downhill
On to the big river it ever does flow
Through old fields where the rushes in clusters do grow
Where i used to daydream that i would be a poet
A fellow seen as worthy of literary note
And though i am one who has penned many pages of stuff
The best that i can be is a rhyming buff
Where i was born and raised few would now know of me
Yet a  Claraghatlea fellow is all i can be.