Claraghatlea's Last Rhymer

This writing of rhyme for me has been a hungry belly game To be Claraghatleas's last rhymer my only claim to fame Addictive in my rhyming habits i pen rhymes every day I have written lots of rhyming stuff in truth of self i can say Where to many today i would be a stranger just west of Millstreet Town To be Claraghatlea's last rhymer is no claim to literary renown My journey in life took me far south of there some three decades ago My better days in life long gone and time has become my foe In Spring the birds sing in the groves in a Claraghatlea sunrise And the old fields that i used to love i often visualize The hawthorns quite resplendent in their white blooms of the May And the swallows chasing flying insects under clouds of blue and gray The cattle on nutritious grass gaining weight by the day And the old fields lush and green looking marvelous in their wildflower array The dipper singing in the rill with it's source in Claramore That babbles to the waterways to the Atlantic shore Where today i would feel a stranger and few would know me The last rhymer of Claraghatlea is the best that i can be Millstreet and it's countryside first inspired me to rhyme But this is many years ago some four decades in time.