Not A Well Traveled Man

I never may walk in the old fields again And hear the birds sing in the wind and the rain When in late April in field by Finnow where the rank rushes grow The wild born cock pheasant does cuck and crow I am not what one would call a well traveled man Though i have been in crowded trains in Tokyo in Japan And i have lived in New York for awhile more than four decades ago Many Seasons before time did become my foe I have been in London seen bits of England by train And only the memories with me does remain Of potato picking in Wales by the Atlantic shore In a past that is now in the forever more I've seen bits of the outback of Australia the great land of the south Where the brown and bare paddocks in Summer are ravaged by drought Where the sheep and cattle from the hot afternoon sun shelter in the shade of the trees And there is a dry warmth in the breath of the breeze On some of the steep roads of New Zealand i have traveled up and down And i have been in Auckland and in old Christchurch Town In Rotorua see the terminal springs bubbling up steam Of such beauty nowadays i only can dream Far from Claraghatlea near Millstreet Town where i first saw light of day The passing of time has left me looking gray And my memories of what was the decades do span But compared to most i am not a well traveled man.