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A Long Way South Even

A long way south even as the migratory bird fly of Clara's old brown rugged hill
In my mind I only hear today the babble of the Claraghatlea rill
In the flat fields damp and rushy flowing to the river night and day
On it's journey out of Duhallow to the saltwater shore far away

Where I first grew to love Nature as a very young boy many Seasons ago
Long before time that rusts iron began to become my foe
Long before the bug of wander lured me to places elsewhere
Far from the fields of my young years to the big World out there

Often in my visualizing on a nice evening in Spring
In the leafy grove near my first home I can hear a chaffinch sing
I left the fields but memories of them followed the mental pictures I retain
For as long as memory is with me good memories of them will remain

Far south of where I grew to love Nature and first looked on the bright lamp of day
Time has left me feeling weary and looking older and gray
Yet I can hear a dipper singing on a balmy Spring sundown
In old Finnow the white river in a field near Millstreet Town

The now as is said is all that does matter for the past I have shed my last tears
Since I was a boy in the nineteen fifties there has been many Seasons and years
On this sunny though cool late June evening the silver billed magpies does sing
In Illowa in south west Victoria two months from the birth of the Spring.

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