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In Claraghatlea By Millstreet Town

In Claraghatlea by Millstreet Town where I once did reside
The dreams I had of poetic fame in those old green fields died
I never did become a poet for poets are very few
And dreams of course are only dreams and dreams seldom come true.

In Claraghatlea by Millstreet Town when June is in her bloom
The old fields full of wildering flowers scent of Nature's perfume
And lovely Summer in her prime and young birds on the leafy trees
Are calling to their parents in the warm and freshening breeze.

The wanderlust was in my heart I was not a settled man
And from Claraghatlea by Millstreet Town my journey south began
I said goodbye to the old home when frosted fields were gray
And Clara wore his hat of snow one cold December day.

The dipper singing in the stream at this time of the year
And the chaffinch piping on the alder tree I fancy I can hear
And the stream that flows from Claramore to the river winds it's way
By leafy hedgerows and rushy fields of green old Claraghatlea.

In Claraghatlea by Millstreet Town of fame I used to dream
When dipper in the warmth of June was singing in the stream
And though my dreams of fame have died the fond memories I retain
Of songbirds singing in the grove in the sunshine after rain.

by Francis Duggan

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