Not A Well Traveled Man

I never may walk in the old fields again
And hear the birds sing in the wind and the rain
When in late April in field by Finnow  where the rank rushes grow
The wildborn cock pheasant does cuck and crow

I am not what one would call a well traveled man
Though i've been in crowded trains in Tokyo in Japan
And i've lived in New York for awhile more than four decades ago
Many Seasons before time did become my foe

I have been in london seen bits of England by train
And only the memories with me does remain
Of potato picking in Wales by the Atlantic shore
In a past that is now in the forever more

I've seen bits of the outback of Australia the great land of the south
Where the brown and bare paddocks in Summer are ravaged by drought
Where the sheep and cattle from the hot afternoon sun shelter in the shade of the trees
And there is a dry warmth in the breath of the breeze

On some of the steep roads of New Zealand i have traveled up and down
And i have been in Auckland and in old Christchurch Town
In Rotorua see the terminal springs bubbling up steam
Of such beauty nowadays i only can dream

Far from Claraghatlea near Millstreet Town where i first saw light of day
The passing of time has left me looking gray
And my memories of what was the decades do span
But compared to most i'm not a well traveled man.