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I Should Go Back To Millstreet

If I should go back to Millstreet some might recognize me
And some might ask why did you leave to live by the Southern sea?
You boarded the bus in Millstreet Town that took you far away
From Duhallow and Clara hill on that cold December day.

And some might say with clasp of hand so good to have you back
Since you left many years ago you have been down many a track
And of your travels Down Under you must have stories to tell
And for old ageless Clara Hill will you pen more doggerel?

And have you walked on the green banks by where Finnow journey down
Through fields and groves and by hedgerows just out of Millstreet Town
On to join with the Blackwater it flows eternally
Through north Cork and then east ward on it's journey to the sea?

And have you heard the skylark sing and carol as he fly
Above the bogs of Claraghatlea a small speck in the sky?
His wife covers their nestlings hidden by tussock in their ground nest
The future songsters of the sky kept warm beneath her breast.

And have you seen the blackbird's nest in the hedge by the Bohreen
And have you seen her tiny eggs with brown spots through the green
And have you heard the redbreast robin sing at twilight of the day
Upon a lovely hawthorn tree cloaked in it's white flowers of May?

Has the old Townland changed a bit from what you thought 'twould seem
And have you heard the dipper sing in the old upland stream
And have you walked in the mountain wood where of fame you did dream
Before unrealized ambition dented your self esteem?

And some might say come to the pub and we will buy you beer
For in Millstreet you were born and raised you are not a stranger here
And we will go back memory lane and our young days we'll recall
We enjoyed our youth and enjoyed our prime but the years upon us did crawl.

If I should go back to Millstreet some who know me might say
The years have left their mark on you your hair is silver gray
But I'm only thinking of the past and the past is forever gone
And in the Hometown life without me it will carry on.

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Mary Elizabeth Frye

Do Not Stand At My Grave And Weep

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