The Vineyards Of France And The Fields Of Millstreet

I too like him have had to choke back the tears
In moments of nostalgia for the long gone years
Back in the days when my hair was dark brown
When i was a younger man west of Millstreet Town

His background in many ways different to mine
In the place where he came from they grow grapes for wine
He is aging far south of his homeland of France
And our meeting today it was only by chance

Yet some things in common we did have to share
We both are descendants of Celts of which he was aware
And we both are migrants in this southern Land
Where our ways of speaking some struggle to understand

From the vineyards of France and from the fields of Millstreet
At the crossroads of life we briefly did meet
With a parting smile he bid me a good day
As on his life's journey he went on his way

And meeting him woke the nostalgia in me
For my youthful years and the what used to be
When with Pudsy the dog when my hair was dark brown
I hunted in the old fields west of Millstreet Town.