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Perhaps I Will Never Again See Old Clara Above Claramore

Perhaps I will never again see old Clara overlooking high Claramore
Though in fancy I walk in the old fields through places I walked on before
Coming to this Southern Country Where I have grown older and gray
The clock on my life it is ticking and ticking and ticking away
Back there now I would be a stranger a stranger to most I would meet
Yes a total stranger to many even in the Town of Millstreet
Where I had many friends and was well known I would seem a stranger today
It has been twenty two years plus nine months months since I've seen the wildflowers of the May
Blooming in Claraghatlea my home Townland when the hawthorns wore their blooms white as snow
And the dipper he sung in the old stream that to the Cails river does flow
I cannot afford to go back there since I am financially poor
But in fancy I hear the birds singing in April in old Annagloor
And the mentors of my youth though with the departed they come to life before my eyes
Since it is easy for to imagine and easy for to visualize.

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