In Claramore Wood

Though from where i now live many sky miles away
In fancy i am in Claramore Wood today
Listening to the wild born nesting birds whistle and sing
The workings of Nature quite an amazing thing

In the home of the rook and the silver back crow
Above the old high fields cool April winds blow
A place that i loved many Seasons ago
Many years before time itself became my foe

In Spring on the slopes of Clara just before sundown
Overlooking the fields bordering Millstreet Town
The little brown lark sings as upwards he does fly
To become a musical speck in the gray clouds of the sky

A familiar voice of the Spring of the year
The song of the robin i fancy i hear
And i hear the babble of the silver tongued rill
That has it's source in a high field by Clara's old hill

The sky above Clara may be looking gray
But in Claramore Wood birds are singing today
And a song that remains quite familiar to me
Of a pink breasted chaffinch on a leafy birch tree.