In Millstreet In Green Old Duhallow Poem by Francis Duggan

In Millstreet in green old Duhallow where into manhood I did grow
Life surely goes on as usual and the Seasons to there come and go
And through lush fields and old rushy meadows and by many a leafy hedgerow
The old Finnow from the high country down to the great Blackwater flow.

I hear that to Millstreet the years have brought changes and little in life stays the same
I left there way back in the eighties not in search of fortune or fame
Only for a bit of adventure in the far bigger World out there
I am one of those born to be migratory and people like me are not rare.

From the Millstreet I knew 'tis a changed place many people to there have come and gone
But people not unlike the Seasons and life in the old place goes on
But old Clara hill would not have changed in Spring and Summer like a musical speck in the sky
The little brown skylark is carolling as upwards and upwards he fly.

In Millstreet nowadays I may feel like a stranger few would recognize my ageing face
And who would wish to be a stranger a stranger in the old home place?
I left there on a cold day in December when Clara wore his white hat of snow
And that was way back in the eighties and that was a long time ago.