Fond Memories

The sweet scent of hay in the meads of July
And the skylark seemed like a small speck in the sky
He carolled so sweetly as upwards he did soar
Above the old high fields of green Claramore
Along by the hedgerow the silvery tongued rill
It babble and gurgles it's way down the hill
As to the big river it ever does flow
Fond memories still with me from Seasons ago
Though in fancy i can see the wildflowers of May
Far from those old fields i am growing old and gray
The wanderlust in me i left the homeplace
And where i live now mine is a strange face
Yet in fancy i hear the lark above the hill
And see wildflowers in bloom by the silvery tongued rill.