A Migrant From Macroom

Never more on balmy Spring evenings of birdsong and wildflowers in bloom
Will he fish with rod and line on the Town bridge above the Sullane that flows through Macroom
When the hawthorns are heavily laden with their fragile white blossoms of the May
Though now in his old Hometown in mid Cork he might feel like a stranger today,
The migrant he still feels nostalgia for the fading memories of the past
Till wanderlust changed him forever suppose nothing in life does last
The decades they roll by so quickly we very soon grow old and gray
Many of the friends of his youth have left Macroom and some with the departed lay,
He was a young man of the sixties those legs then that could run fast now walk slow
On looking back the years went so quickly though that was a long time ago
On evenings in the Spring and Summer he chased the football up and down
With his young and carefree companions in the playing field in Macroom Town
But those days for him are long over and the past is gone forever more
And he is growing old in the South Lands far south of his Northern home shore.