I left Duhallow but Duhallow followed
And the Boggeragh hills are never far away
In Finnow pools the trout for flies are jumping
And I see the cross on Clara every day.
The stream from the mountain lake of Kippagh
Down through the bracken splashes on it's way
Joined by small rills it swells into a river
Before it reach the flat fields of Liscreagh.
Of the fields of Claraghatlea north where I came from
I once said were a memory in decay
But of them I've found a new mental picture
Resplendent in their wildflowers of the May.
I left Duhallow but Duhallow followed
And the green fields and the woodlands I still see
I drive up the high hill through Cullen Village
And take the road that leads to Knocknagree.
I have brought the fields of Ballydaly with me
And I have never seen them as green as this before
And cock robin his sweetest tune is piping
In the high mountain wood of Claramore.
I left Duhallow but Duhallow followed
And I see the fields of Millstreet every day
The gray fog cloaks the bracken slopes of Mushera
And the Boggeragh hills are never far away.
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