It flows from the high ground downland with a will
By night and by day it's tongue is never still
After heavy rain on the fields of Claraghatlea it's overflow spill
On it's way to the river the Claramore Rill
In their breeding Season in the prime of the Spring
The dark brown white breasted water birds dipper on it's bank do sing
Their heads bob up and down singing their shrill like song
Once seen and once heard one could never again get them wrong
Long before the first humans to Duhallow came
Like all waterways it did not have a name
In the age of the dinosaurs it was very old
And the truth of it's history will never be told
It has inspired the artists and the writers of story and rhyme
And in a voice never still through the Seasons of time
It flows in Claraghatlea to the rivers to the Atlantic shore
The rill from the fields of high Claramore.
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