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He Will Return To Duhallow

His accent is rare in this City a migrant from old Duhallow
He comes from that fertile green Countryside where the waters of Araglen flow
On it's journey to the Blackwater through old fields and by many a hedgerow
Through places made famous by long deceased writers going back many Seasons ago,
In the Cullen pubs his was a well known face where he drunk many a guinness and beer
But to his present surroundings he is a virtual stranger since Cullen is a long way from here,
The busy life style of Suburbia to one like him is something new
At times he feels a bit nostalgic living where his race do seem so few,
Back home now 'tis late fall in Duhallow deciduous trees and hedgerows getting bare
The weather at times wet and windy with a wintery chill in the air
At night in the pubs in the Village there's laughter, music, dance and song
Suppose people must leave their home-place to realize that to their home-place they belong
But he will return to Duhallow along with the swallows of the Spring
When wild flowers in the old fields are blooming and nesting birds whistle and sing.

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