Nostalgia She Does Visit Me

Perhaps I will never again see the cliffs of Hibernia's shore
Or see the old brown face of Clara that overlook green Claramore
Nostalgia sometimes pays me a visit though with me her's is a brief stay
She reminds me of places I once knew north of here and in distance far away.

December in Duhallow and Sliabh Luachra is a cold and wet time of the year
The wind howls in the naked woodland and the song of the birds one doesn't hear
But at night in the pubs in the towns and the villages there is laughter and music and song
And the returned migrants feel happy for to join in the sing along.

Perhaps I will never again see the fields where the old Finnow flow
On it's journey to the Blackwater by many a windswept hedgerow
The past it may be gone forever but memories of the past we retain
And often in our flights of fancy we visit our old friends again.

Perhaps I will never again see the old Town in view of the hill
Or hear in the stillness of evening the babble of the mountain rill
That flows on downhill to the river in a journey that ends at the sea
One only can live in the present but nostalgia she does visit me.