Perhaps i will never see Millstreet Town Again
Or old Clara half cloaked in the gray fogs of rain
Or on the calm of a Spring twilight by river Finnow
Through the silence hear the soft lowing of a cow
It was the yearn for wander that lured me away
From the place where i first looked on the lamp of day
Claraghatlea just west of the Town of Millstreet
In the green countryside where the waterways meet
Nostalgia for what was has died in me years ago
And time that rusts iron has become my foe
Yet in fancy in Spring i hear a male pheasant crow
In a field where the rushes in clusters do grow
And only the memories today i retain
Of what used to be and may not be again.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment