An Old Migrant

In his youth he was as restless as the silver tongued mountain rill
That babbled on by his home from the foot of the old hill
The wanderlust in his young heart the far off hills seemed green
And he said goodbye to his parents and his younger brother when he had turned eighteen
A seventy eight year old grand father with an eighty year old wife
Far from his old home by the northern hills he will live out his life
The old home he has not seen for some thirty years or more
And perhaps he'll never again see the the cliffs of his homeland shore,
A likeable old fellow to all he says good day
And to help out other people he goes out of his way
For his years he looks healthy and he enjoys good cheer
And on saturday evenings at the Local he still likes to have a beer
He has such a good memory and his thoughts are always clear
And he looks a decade younger than his seventy eight year.