The place I was born in and where I was raised
In my rhymes of nostalgia I often have praised
I left there when Clara wore his hat of snow
And Finnow bank high through the old fields did flow
A cold wind from the north through Duhallow did blow
And the migrant redwings were chirping on bare tree and hedgerow
But twenty two years gone since that does seem long ago
And few back there now of me would even know
In those old fields I did spend my best physical years
But nostalgia no longer does move me to tears
The young man of the sixties the years have left gray
And the clock on my life it keeps ticking away
Many of those I knew with the departed lay
And I would be a stranger in Millstreet today.
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