Claraghatlea's Last Rhymer

This writing of rhyme for me has been a hungry belly game
To be Claraghatleas's last rhymer my only claim to fame
Addictive in my rhyming habits i pen rhymes every day
I have written lots of rhyming stuff in truth of self i can say

Where to many today i would be a stranger just west of Millstreet Town
To be Claraghatlea's last rhymer is no claim to literary renown
My journey in life took me far south of there some three decades ago
My better days in life long gone and time has become my foe

In Spring the birds sing in the groves in a Claraghatlea sunrise
And the old fields that i used to love i often visualize
The hawthorns quite resplendent in their white blooms of the May
And the swallows chasing flying insects under clouds of blue and gray

The cattle on nutritious grass gaining weight by the day
And the old fields lush and green looking marvelous in their wildflower array
The dipper singing in the rill with it's source in Claramore
That babbles to the waterways to the Atlantic shore

Where today i would feel a stranger and few would know me
The last rhymer of Claraghatlea is the best that i can be
Millstreet and it's countryside first inspired me to rhyme
But this is many years ago some four decades in time.