From The Fields Of Annagloor

I cannot say that I was unhappy and a happy one cannot be poor
'Twas the lust for the wander and that only took me from the fields of Annagloor
And the old Townlands west of Millstreet and the roadway from Millstreet to Rathmore
Though true what they say of the savage the savage loves his native shore.

Where the river from the lake of Kippagh towards the old Finnow winds it's way
By hedgerows and through rushy old fields it babbles along night and day
In fancy I can hear the moorhen in the reeds utter her warning cry
To warn her dark babes to go to cover when she senses danger nearby.

The lust for the wander was in me of distant places I did dream
Far south of the song of the robin who sang in the grove by the stream
But despite my decades of absence his song with me it does remain
On chilly and overcast weather he sings in the wind and the rain.

Through fields of Annagloor damp and rushy the river goes babbling along
And often on my flights of fancy I can hear the dipper in song
And on a Spring evening finches are singing and blackbird with the orange coloured bill
On a silver birch tree is piping by the banks of a clear flowing rill.