The Rose Of Knocknagree
Where might she be now the Rose of Knocknagree
by Francis Duggan
In her prime there was none as lovely as she
Brown eyes and shoulder length darkish brown hair
With her in Duhallow not one could compare.
She left her home Village when she was nineteen
The bigger World out there it was to be seen
She went off to London but I've heard some-one say
That she ended up in the U S of A.
She left behind one lovesick young man in tears
He was older than her by just a few years
And though she was one that he never did kiss
The pride of the Village he sorely did miss.
In the early sixties she was in her prime
And no doubt she has aged with the passing of time
With hair tints and hair dyes does she cover her gray
And with anti ageing creams hide her wrinkles away?
The Rose of her Village four decades ago
She left in the Spring when the gray hooded crow
Was building her stick nest on the tall beech tree
By the Village on the hill known as Knocknagree.