A Migrant From Duhallow

Far north of here I spent my best years though old memories refuse to fade And there I grew to love the famous writers the legends of the wordsmith trade Twenty one years in Australia in time may seem a lengthy span But I'll always be a migrant here I was born an Irishman. It should go without saying for facts don't ever lie That even a non Aboriginal Australian is far more Aussie than I I love this Southern Country though I come from far away And absence would even make me a stranger in my home Parish today. This great Pacific Country has inspired the bards to rhyme It was a very old Land even back in the Dreamtime When the first Australians for their food hunted and danced their corroborees By the brown hills out of the sunshine in the shadow of the trees. I can never be an Aussie of that why should I pretend Though I love this Southern Country and here my life may end I remain a migrant from Duhallow the home of the hooded crow Where the legendary Blackwater towards the great Atlantic flow.