The Old High Fields Of Claramore

The old high fields of Claramore I walk them once again
Where wildflowers bloom amongst the grass made lush by recent rain
The robin singing in the wood his voice so nice to hear
What in distance seems so far away in fancy to me near.

The swallows have returned home from places far away
Above the fields of Claramore they chirp and fly today
And skylark in the gray rain clouds is carolling as he fly
His family on a ground nest born the minstrel of the sky.

In Johnny Murphy's old high field the shy cock pheasant crow
And the babbling stream as old as time downhill to the river flow
And things have not changed it would seem as if time had stood still
In those high fields of Claramore at the foot of Clara hill.

Though separated by distance and separated by time
By those old fields of Claramore I was inspired to rhyme
And though memories of what I did love till death I will retain
The people like the Seasons come and go but the old fields do remain.

In the hedgerows of Claramore the nesting birds in song
And pink breasted male chaffinch on the alder tree is singing all day long
And wildflowers in their myriads bloom Nature's a wondrous thing
In those old fields of Claramore flushed with the green of Spring.