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Of Migrant Nostalgia

Of nostalgic tears none left for to keep
In the migrant minds feelings do run deep
For towns and places in distance far away
From where they first looked on the bright lamp of day

The roads of memory that i often walk up and down
Always lead me back home to old Millstreet Town
And those streets i walked on many years ago
Long before time that rusts iron became my foe

I do feel age tiredness in my weary feet
And with time itself i now have to compete
Far south of Claraghatlea west of the Town of Millstreet
And the old rushy fields where the waterways meet

In my boyhood years old story tellers their tales did tell
Of the many miracles at Tubrid Well
And of the black and tans and the civil war
They now lay where their enemies and their heroes are

An often absent pupil of the Millstreet Primary School
Where i often sat on the dunces stool
But the bright boys of the school classrooms back then
Are either deceased or like me ageing men

I know that i may outlive this slipshod rhyme
But like all i too will have to fall to time
That we are mere mortals why otherwise pretend
And death is one who does not have any friend

Children sad to say are taught to compete
From a young age with other children of their street
For this thing that is known to all as success
In most of us there is this need of others to impress

From my original point i have tended to stray
Of migrants from their first homeplace living far away
When of their loss of nostalgia to convince you they try
Their deep inner feelings they only deny

As for me i do think of Millstreet every day
From where i live now in distance far away
But to live where i am now in my life's destiny
And in this Southern Land time may run out on me.

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