Perhaps I Won't See Old Duhallow Again

Perhaps i won't see old Duhallow again
And hear the birds sing in the drizzling rain
When the mild April winds from the mountains do blow
And the stream bank high in brown flood to the river does flow
A stranger in Duhallow today i might be
Where many would not know or know of me
I left there in December in eighty six a time of year when grass refuse to grow
And the Boggeragh Hills were in their hats of snow
On looking back the Seasons this does seem long ago
And time that rusts iron has become my foe
The wanderlust in me for places elsewhere
To see a small part of the big World out there
And i did not return to Duhallow in Spring
When the fields wear their flowers and the nesting birds sing.