My Nostalgic Stories

He said to me your accent is strong and your hair silver gray
And do you miss your old Homeland from here far away
And he added out of Australia for a long period of time i could not stay
I said to him i do go home every day

He said in a home for the disillusioned you surely belong
For even in your imagination you surely does have it all wrong
How can you be at home when you are physically here
That your thinking is clouded does seem obviously clear?

I told him that i am often in Matty Owens bog in the Spring
Just before sundown listening to the curlew sing
And the songs of the birds from the neaby trees
Come floating to me in the freshening breeze

And as the shades of darkness are cloaking the sky
Above the bogland the male snipe does fly
With his wings and his tail he makes a goat like sound
As above his territory he flies around

And to her young calf the soft lowing of a cow
In a darkening field by old River Finnow
On a pleasant evening in May just after sundown
In the quiet countryside just west of Millstreet Town

He did look at me in a puzzled sort of a way
Saying your are talking like one not mentally okay
You say you go back home when you visualize
But this is not physically possible you ought to realize

A fellow i met in the Botanical Gardens on Koroit's Hight Street
Who has never heard of the Town of Millstreet
And though i tried to convince him that him i was not trying to deceive
My nostalgic stories he refused to believe.