I'll Always Be

I'll always be a migrant in this Country and I'd feel like a stranger now in from where I came
But in the end my feelings will not matter for in the end 'twill all come to the same
I live far from the house where I was born in though nostalgia for me a thing of the past
'Tis true enough that time is the great healer though few things in time ever do seem to last.

I now can look back without tears of nostalgia and recall the beauty I have known and seen
Of Springs gone by when robin with the red breast sang on the alder by the old bohreen
When the leafy crab apple tree looked rather lovely in her fragile pink tinted blossoms of gray
And the swallows home from their Southern wintering Country above the fields chased their flying insect prey.

I day dreamed of being a poet in that far Country though for me there has been no such a renown
'Tis true that poets are not made they are born and a poet is not born in every town
Yet the beauty all around me did inspire me as Nature she inspires us all to write
The wildflowers in the lush green fields of April for anyone is a memorable sight.

I still recall the dipper's song in April he sang on a rock amidst the babbling stream
Such things of beauty one tends to remember though of such things I seldom now do dream
And though I'll always be a migrant in this Country the present is to where we all belong
And one might say that I have grown familiar to the natural beauty in the magpie's song.