I May Never Climb Clara

I may never climb Clara Mountain again Or hear the breeding frogs croak in the water logged drain When the mild winds of March from the Boggeraghs blow And in the rushy old fields the male pheasants crow Of life we all do have our own history And we age with our memories of what used to be Of people we have known and on our journeys have met Those we remember with fondness and those we wish to forget I may never again hear the migratory curlew sing In Matty Owens bog on an evening in Spring In the calm of the twilight just after sundown In the quiet countryside just west of Millstreet Town Our good memories age with us like good tasting wine But the memories of a city raised person would be different to mine And though different to mine a country raised boy City raised people have their own good memories to enjoy Though his song lives in me as a memorable thing I may never again hear the male robin sing When the hawthorns are in their white blooms of the May In green old Duhallow from here far away.