I Come From The Place Where The Cails Waters Flow

The home of the badger and the silver back crow
I come from the place where the Cails waters flow
From Kippagh Lake fringed by bracken it babbles it's way
On down through the old fields by night and by day
I never may see the old Parish again
But the nostalgic memories with me do remain
Of the Cails babbling onwards through Matty Owens bog
Where I often hunted with Pudsy the dog
In my flights of fancy I hear the lark sing
High above the rank rushes on an evening in Spring
When the hawthorns are cloaked in their white blooms of May
Where the Cails from Kippagh slowly winds it's way
Through the grassy old fields made lush by recent showers
Looking so green and healthy in their Nature's flowers.