No I don't sing the anthem of Cork City
The green green banks of my own lovely Lee
I'd much prefer to sing of distant mountains
Or places like the woods of Reanaree
Where the red squirrel nibbles on her spruce cone
On higher spreading branch of tall spruce tree
And wood pigeon is cooing in the morning
The wild and lonely places are for me.
No I don't sing of Melbourne and it's buildings
The City by the Yarra deep and brown
I'd much prefer to sing of woods of Sherbrooke
And quiet and remote places out of town.
Where mountain ash the giant of the woodland
His higher branches seem to touch the sky
Stand silent on a windless day in Autumn
The memory of such beauty never die.
The wild loud laughter of the kookaburras
And the white cockies squawk but never sing
And all day long the grey shrike thrush is fluting
And butcherbird's notes have a bubbling ring.
No I don't like to sing about the cities
Suppose in many ways I'm not so poor
I only love the quiet and lonely places
With Mother Nature I feel more secure.
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