Though he’ll never more hear the lark in the Springtime above the slopes of Clara hill
His friends they will surely recall him when wildflowers will bloom by the rill
That babble through Claramore downhill on to the big river it flow
In Claramore he raised his children and everyone him there did know
It could be said of Con Sullivan that he would not harm a fly
He always was friendly and courteous and to help you his best he would try
He loved and took care of his family and of him ‘twould be fair to say
That he was honest and hard working and he earned his every take home pay
One can only hope that his end was not painful he did deserve a peaceful end
Since in life he was loved by so many and to many he was a good friend
And those with the good fortune to have known him the kind hearted one will recall
He died in the depths of the Winter and death it will come to us all.