Fresh In My Memory

The old Finnow river in flood waters of brown
Is bank high in the fields just west of Millstreet Town
And water is gurgling in the roadside drain
And the blackbird he sings in the wind and the rain
The old fields that i may never see again
But fresh in my memory they seem to remain
The rooks on the high trees are cawing as darkness fall
Such beautiful memories with joy i recall
The gray fog is creeping down old Clara hill
And i hear the babble of the Claramore rill
Through green Claraghatlea and by many a hedgerow
Forever downland to the river it flow
Those old fields near Millstreet from me far away
But in fancy i walk in them every day.