My Nostalgic Stories

He said to me your accent is strong and your hair silver gray And do you miss your old Homeland from here far away And he added out of Australia for a long period of time i could not stay I said to him i do go home every day He said in a home for the disillusioned you surely belong For even in your imagination you surely does have it all wrong How can you be at home when you are physically here That your thinking is clouded does seem obviously clear? I told him that i am often in Matty Owens bog in the Spring Just before sundown listening to the curlew sing And the songs of the birds from the neaby trees Come floating to me in the freshening breeze And as the shades of darkness are cloaking the sky Above the bogland the male snipe does fly With his wings and his tail he makes a goat like sound As above his territory he flies around And to her young calf the soft lowing of a cow In a darkening field by old River Finnow On a pleasant evening in May just after sundown In the quiet countryside just west of Millstreet Town He did look at me in a puzzled sort of a way Saying your are talking like one not mentally okay You say you go back home when you visualize But this is not physically possible you ought to realize A fellow i met in the Botanical Gardens on Koroit's Hight Street Who has never heard of the Town of Millstreet And though i tried to convince him that him i was not trying to deceive My nostalgic stories he refused to believe.