From a high field by Clara it babbles downhill
With a silver tongue that is never still
Down to Claraghatlea it flows with a will
The waterway known to some as the Claramore Rill
On Claraghatlea Bridge on an evening in Spring
How lovely to listen to the dipper sing
The dark brown water bird of breast white as snow
By sight or by song that everyone seem to know
In Claraghatlea on the ditches by the old waterway
The hawthorns are cloaked in their white blooms of the May
And on it's green banks the buttercups in full bloom in their petals of gold
A sight of great natural beauty always a joy to behold
Through Claraghatlea to the rivers to the ocean shore
It will flow on forever the Rill from Claramore
The Seasons have come and the Seasons have gone
But the Rill from the high field to the river flows on.
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