In Claramore Wood

Though from where i now live many sky miles away In fancy i am in Claramore Wood today Listening to the wild born nesting birds whistle and sing The workings of Nature quite an amazing thing In the home of the rook and the silver back crow Above the old high fields cool April winds blow A place that i loved many Seasons ago Many years before time itself became my foe In Spring on the slopes of Clara just before sundown Overlooking the fields bordering Millstreet Town The little brown lark sings as upwards he does fly To become a musical speck in the gray clouds of the sky A familiar voice of the Spring of the year The song of the robin i fancy i hear And i hear the babble of the silver tongued rill That has it's source in a high field by Clara's old hill The sky above Clara may be looking gray But in Claramore Wood birds are singing today And a song that remains quite familiar to me Of a pink breasted chaffinch on a leafy birch tree.