From A High Field By Clara

From a high field by Clara it babbles downhill With a silver tongue that is never still Down to Claraghatlea it flows with a will The waterway known to some as the Claramore Rill On Claraghatlea Bridge on an evening in Spring How lovely to listen to the dipper sing The dark brown water bird of breast white as snow By sight or by song that everyone seem to know In Claraghatlea on the ditches by the old waterway The hawthorns are cloaked in their white blooms of the May And on it's green banks the buttercups in full bloom in their petals of gold A sight of great natural beauty always a joy to behold Through Claraghatlea to the rivers to the ocean shore It will flow on forever the Rill from Claramore The Seasons have come and the Seasons have gone But the Rill from the high field to the river flows on.