I Was Born By A Northern Mountain

I was born by a northern mountain though perhaps far from that mountain I will die
But my past to this day remains with me and my heritage I won't deny
In the Parish where I grew to manhood I would feel like a stranger today
Few there now would even recognize me the years have left me looking gray.

The schoolboy of the nineteen fifties three decades of years past his prime
He may not live to be an old man but he surely will outlive his rhyme
But memories of the old fields are with him old memories will not fade away
Of the familiar song of the chaffinch and the beautiful wildflowers of May.

The scratchy song of the white breasted dipper in his home in the mountain rill
That babbled on down towards the river along by the hedgerows down the hill
And the beautiful song of cock robin his partner sits in her cup shaped nest
With her five pale eggs freckled pinkish kept warm by her orange coloured breast.

I was born and raised by a northern mountain but the bigger World I went to see
Still the old fields to me once familiar at times don't seem distant from me
In my flights of fancy I can hear the cawing of the rook and gray crow
And the shy cock pheasant he is cucking in the rushy patch by the hedgerow.