But Still I Miss Those Bleak Days Of December

Through rushy fields the Finnow bank high flowing
And all day long the rain's been pouring down
And birds are silent in the windswept hedgerows
And leafless groves just out of Millstreet Town.

Of hoofed mammals the soggy fields are empty
And the cattle in the farm sheds eating hay
But still I miss those bleak days of December
And I still miss those places far away.

I often dream about the fields of Millstreet
On days when the gray fog shrouds Clara Hill
I thought that I had overcome nostalgia
But memories of the past are with me still.

On blackwood tree the white backed magpie fluting
His distinct notes in the morning sunshine
And wildflowers are blooming in summery Victoria
And a forecast high today of twenty nine.

You take the magpie from this sunlit country
And set him free in places far away
He too might dream of his beloved Homeland
And he might not tune his flute at dawn of day.

Sir Walter Scott the famous bard from Scotland
Once wrote 'There lays a man with soul so dead'
Of one who did not seem to miss his Homeland
And truer words perhaps have not been said.

Through rushy fields the Finnow flows forever
And all day long the rain is pouring down
And I have yet not overcome nostalgia
And I still miss the fields near Millstreet Town.