In Fancy Again

In the old fields i will never again hear the angelus bell
Or drink of the clear spring water of Tubrid Well
Or hear the babble of the silver tongued rill
Or climb to the cross at top of Clara Hill
Or on a leafy birch tree in late April in Spring
Hear the nesting male robin proclaiming his territory sing
Or see the hawthorns cloaked in their white blooms of the May
Though the memory of such things until death with me will stay
And on a Summer's evening hear the curlew piping above Matty Owen's bog
Where as a boy i often hunted with Pudsy the brown dog
In cemeteries in Duhallow from here far away
Many of my boyhood mentors in eternal rest lay
And only the memories with me does remain
Of a past i can only visit in fancy again