Only In Fancy

Only in fancy i can hear the silver tongued rill
Babbling down the high green fields by Clara Hill
At the start of it's journey to the Atlantic shore
Some 80 k's from it's source maybe more

And only in fancy i can hear the robin sing
On a leafy alder tree in prime of Spring
When the hawthorns are in their white blooms of the May
And wildflowers are in the old fields far away

In the coarse meadow where the rushes in clusters grow
Only in fancy i can hear the male pheasant crow
Aloof and contented in his own company
He leaves the hen bird on her own to raise the family

On a calm evening in Summer just before sundown
In a field walking distance west of Millstreet Town
In fancy i can hear the lowing of a cow
In the gathering twilight by the River Finnow

But the now is all that should matter for the past it has gone
And life all around me as usual goes on
And only the memories of what was with me does remain
And only in fancy i visit the old fields again.