Perhaps I Will Never Again See Old Clara Above Claramore

Perhaps I will never again see old Clara overlooking high Claramore Though in fancy I walk in the old fields through places I walked on before Coming to this Southern Country Where I have grown older and gray The clock on my life it is ticking and ticking and ticking away Back there now I would be a stranger a stranger to most I would meet Yes a total stranger to many even in the Town of Millstreet Where I had many friends and was well known I would seem a stranger today It has been twenty two years plus nine months months since I've seen the wildflowers of the May Blooming in Claraghatlea my home Townland when the hawthorns wore their blooms white as snow And the dipper he sung in the old stream that to the Cails river does flow I cannot afford to go back there since I am financially poor But in fancy I hear the birds singing in April in old Annagloor And the mentors of my youth though with the departed they come to life before my eyes Since it is easy for to imagine and easy for to visualize.