I Cannot Boast

I cannot boast of any achievements far south of Hibernia's shore
Far south of Millstreet and Ballydaly and the roadway to Rathmore
Only getting old and grayer little else from life to show
I'm not better off or wiser than i was decades ago.

Far south of old Clara mountain and the fields near Millstreet Town
Where the Finnow from the foot of Gneeves mountain ever winds it's way on down
Babbling on through rushy places and by many a hedgerow
On to join the great Blackwater that to the Atlantic flow.

Of my boyhood years in Duhallow fond memories with me remain
And in fancy i hear the robin singing in the wind and rain
And the hawthorns looking resplendent in their white blooms of the May
In old places of my young years north of here and far away.

Often in my flights of fancy i can hear the babbling rill
As it scurries down the gravel of the old fields by the hill
And though i cannot boast of life's achievements I've got good memories in galore
Of Millstreet and Ballydaly and the roadway to Rathmore.