He's From The Bog Road

He's from the bog road beside the old mountain that in Winter wears it's hat of snow Where in Summer the skylark is carolling above the brown bog where the bog cotton blow In the freshenings winds that blow from the Northlands in the changeable weather of early July When the young birds in the hedgerows are chirping far north of here even as the crow fly, On saturday night in the pub he is singing songs of his Homeland from here far away Nostalgia a thing that remains in the migrant and with him until his last day of life stay His wife was born and raised in this Southern Country in the town cemetery her remains lay Did not live to see her grandchildren grow into adults his one great love he thinks of her every day At heart he does remain a boy from the bog road the scent of the bog cotton he can still visualize And in the wood he can hear the birds singing on a Spring morning just after sunrise His only sibling his younger brother is resting forever in the same grave where his mum and dad lay Yet if he were to return to the bog road he knows he'd feel a stranger there today But the nostalgia remains in the migrant the gift of memory is an amazing thing And at the local pub when he is feeling merry songs of the Homeland he always does sing.