The Fellow From Shrone

There are often tears in his eyes for the City of Shrone
And the twin Pap Mountains of gorse, bracken, heather and stone
Often in the pub he sings an Irish song
The love of the homeland in him remains strong
The fellow from Shrone never did have a wife
And without any children to talk of in his life
He only has the past for to talk about
And the fields of the badger and waterways of the brown trout
Sixty years out of Ireland in that many a day
The hair on his balding head is silver gray
In his early eighties time has become his foe
But he loves to recall his memories of the long ago
Of when he was a boy in the City of Shrone
By the hills known as Paps of bracken, gorse, heather and stone.