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On The Last Time I Saw Old Ballydaly

On the last time I saw old Ballydaly the weather it was cold enough to snow
And the river from Kippagh along by Feirm bank high on down towards Annagloor did flow
It was an overcast November morning and on a naked birch a lone gray crow
Was cawing his voice echoed in the silence of an empty landscape all of those years ago.

Many Seasons since have come to Ballydaly and many Seasons gone the way of time
The young children back then are now in their twenties and almost at the peak of their life prime
They too have seen Springs, Summers and Winters come to Ballydaly and they've seen the brown leaves falling in the Fall
And on a naked birch tree by the river they too as I have heard the gray crow call

On a windy and a cold November morning when dark gray clouds were about to spill their rain
When the river through drenched fields was bank high flowing and water gurgled in the roadside drain
And will some of them like me leave for another Country before the swallows come home in the Spring
And o'er the lush green fields of Ballydaly as they chase winged insects they do chirp and sing.

On the last time I saw old Ballydaly a gray fog enveloped old Clara hill
The brown flood waters flowed bank high by Feirm and the wind about it had a Wintery chill
And though I now live far from Ballydaly and the winding roadway that leads to Rathmore
The words of a sage I often do remember 'the savage too does love his native shore'.

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