The Rose Of Kanturk Town

Her eyes as blue as the ripened sloes of November and her wavy shoulder length hair a darkish brown
Full of the joys of life and in her early twenties she bloomed like a rose The Rose of Kanturk Town
The clock ticks on but her i still remember and young in my memory she does seem to stay
I cannot picture her as one in her mid sixties that time has left the worst for wear and gray.

She left Kanturk she had her dreams to follow far from the old Town where the Allow flow
On through the flat fields of ageless Duhallow by many a grove and by many a hedgerow
But the memory of her beauty seems to linger and in fancy i can picture her today
Walking in the old town on a sunny evening as fresh and lovely as the flowers of May.

I wonder did she come home for to grow old though if i see her now her i may well not know
To her Hometown in the heart of Duhallow to the place she left some forty years ago
Or is she now an ageing migrant granny who for to cheat the years does use dye in her hair
As she once was her i do still remember for she was one who possessed beauty rare.

The Allow through Kanturk is still flowing on through Duhallow towards the ocean shore
And somethings remain unchanged as time does tick on but the past in reality has gone forever more
But The Rose of kanturk Town I do remember and in flights of fancy i see her again
Walking in the old Town in the evening sunshine that lovely memory with me does remain.

by Francis Duggan

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