Through Old Claraghatlea

Through Old Claraghatlea a mile from Millstreet Town
The Cails from Kippagh slowly winds it's way down
Through flat and damp fields where rank rushes grow
On towards the Finnow it ever does flow.

Through the place of the badger, the rook and gray crow
The winds of rain of early Winter do blow
From the high fields of Claramore by Clara hill
The sunless gray morning has a wintery chill.

A high for the day of a cool two degrees
The migratory redwings are chirping on the leafless trees
They sense when their northern woods of snow are clear
And they fly home to breed in the Spring of the year.

In December in Duhallow the birds do not sing
And almost three months till the calendar Spring
The rills flowing bank high swollen by heavy rains
And brown flood waters gurgling in the roadside drains.

From the place where i first looked on the light of day
Claraghatlea in Millstreet i live far away
In December there when the old year has grown old
The weather is windy and rainy and cold.