A Fellow From Millstreet

The bug of the wander it had bitten me
Beyond Clara Mountain there were places for to see
The Boggeragh hills in their white hats of snow
And Finnow in brown flood waters bank high in the old fields did flow

The cattle in the farm sheds were bellowing for silage or hay
On that bleak and that wintery December day
A cold wind driven rain it was drizzling down
As i boarded the Rosslare bus in Millstreet Town

To the boat that take migrants from Hibernia's shore
On a journey that many had been on before
The lure of the wander lures many away
From the place where they first looked on the lamp of day

Though sometimes i feel nostalgic for the long gone years
For what used to be i have shed my last tears
All we have are our memories of Seasons long gone
But the now is all that does matter and life does go on

I do sort of envy those at home happy to stay
Who never yearn to travel to Lands far away
But how boring we would be for want of a better name
If in our thinking and interests we all were the same

The past may be gone but the memories of it remain
And in fancy i often visit Duhallow again
When the old fields are in their wildflowers of the May
And the hawthorns are cloaked in their blooms of white to gray

Far south of where mine used to be a known face
I am just a fellow from another place
But despite my years of absence from there it does seem to me
That a fellow from Millstreet is all i can be.