I oft think of my homeland far away
The land that I left many years ago
When frost bound meadow wore it's cloak of gray
And bracken hill it's winter cap of snow.
It's autumn back in the old homeland now
And in wind and rain the leaves commence to fall
The mavis silent on the elm bough
And the hungry fox in moonlit valley call.
In Sherbrooke wood I hear the voice of spring
The butcherbird pipes cheerful melody
On scented gum the white backed magpie sing
And yellow flowers bloom on the wattle tree.
I love these hills to me they are home from home
Though my homeland many thousand miles from here
But I'd not like to go back home right now
As spring is still my favourite time of year.
I close my eyes and I can visualize
The skylark piping o'er the hillside brown
And swallows wheeling in the sunlit skies
O'er green meadows towards west of Millstreet Town.
I will return to the homeland one day
When robin has his sweetest song to sing
And flowers are blooming brightly in the may
And woods re-echo to the birds of spring.
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