The years seem to fly and time ticking away
And what hair I have left on my head silver gray
And it goes without joy for me for to say
That I would be a stranger in Clara Today.
Perhaps even in Claraghatlea my old Homeplace
To many who live there mine would be a strange face
But the old fields I loved they would look much the same
I recall some of them even had their own name.
A migrant in this sunny Southern Land
Where my accent many struggle for to understand
A migrant here and a stranger by Clara is all I could be
And only the memories now live on with me
Of the very old fields where the rank rushes grow
In a place I once loved where many I did know
But the past is the past and life goes on somehow
And the future is ahead and we live in the now.
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