Those Ever Pleasant Memories

In green hedgerows of Flintfield songbirds pipe all the day
And countless wildflowers burst to bloom in meadows far away
And from the deep Blackwater pools trout jump to catch the fly
And butterflies flit to and fro across the sunny sky.

In rushy meads by Clara hill the meadow pipits sing
And skylark in the heavens lilt flushed with the joys of Spring
And vixen with rabbit in mouth trots down the gorsy glen
To share her kill with fast growing cubs outside her hidden den.

In dreams I see the otters play on Finnow's green, green bank
And watch the startled brown hare bolt from out the scutch grass rank
And hear on Springtime evenings the strange, strange goat like bleats
That long billed snipe make with his wings o'er rush fields of Millstreet.

And though I awake to sound of passing train and the honk of motor horn
Many thousand of miles from Millstreet and the vale where I was born
Those ever pleasant memories still linger in my mind
Of stream and mead and heather hill and Ireland's wild born kind.