All he has now is the memory
Of his younger years in old Knocknagree
The high Village in Sliabh Luachra where he first saw light of day
In view of the Boggeraghs from here far away
Childless in his eighties without a wife
Yet he does not feel lonely in his life
On Saturday evening in the local pub he joins in the cheer
And spins many a good yarn as he sips on his beer
In the pub looked on as one of their own
Today in Konocknagree by few he would be known
The hair on his balding head is silver grey
The gift of youth with anyone does not stay
But of any worries he lives as carefree
Far south of the high village of Knocknagree.
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