Only Memories Of What Was

Only memories of what was with me does remain
And perhaps i will never see Clara again
Or stand on it's slopes on an evening in July
Above me the lark singing in the gray sky
When the whortleberries the tiny blue fruits of the heather are ripe for to eat
In the taste buds of the mouth they are a tasty treat
On my flights of fancy time seems to stand still
And i often climb to the steel cross on Clara Hill
With wonderful views of Duhallow and Sliabh Luachra stretching far and wide
On either side of the County border of the green countryside
A musical speck in the gray of the sky
The little brown lark sings as upwards he does fly
Above the mountain above high Claramore
In distance far north of this southern shore.