The tiny brown wren with the big bird song sing in the green hedgerow
And flowers of Spring bloom in the fields where the Finnow waters flow.
The robin on the hawthorn tree in her white flowers of May
Pipe forth his familiar melody to cheer me on my way
And old Clara hill with the bracken face he hasn’t aged with time
I often sat upon his brow when I was in my prime
My old friends greet me with a smile and a shake hands and hello
Oh it is good to see you back you left us years ago
Like me they’ve known a better day the years on them does show
And to their children young men and women I’m just one they do not know.
The people they look older but the old fields seem the same
As when I was a younger man and had my dreams of fame
The dipper singing in the stream and the dunnock in his cloak of brown
Sings on a bush by the Rathmore road a mile from Millstreet Town.
I fancy I am walking in the old home fields again
And I hear the chaffinch singing in the lightly drizzling rain
And the skylark he is carolling as up and up he fly
Towards the gates of skylark heaven in the cloudy morning sky.
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