In Claramore Now Poem by Francis Duggan

In Claramore now it is Winter the bare fields of morning looking gray
From overnight frost and in the farm shed the cattle are bellowing for hay
And the stream down Johnny Murphy's high field towards the river is babbling it's way
In Claramore by Clara mountain less than three weeks from Christmas day.

In Claramore birds are not singing and the hedgerows and trees looking bare
And a gray fog has covered old Clara and the cold of Winter is in the air
And high on the bare beech tree the dark rooks are cawing at this time of year food is hard to find
The long Winter months are cold and hungry for them and their wild feathered kind.

In Claramore in cold December the robin one seldom hear sing
And four long months now until April for the bloom of the northern Spring
The redwings are back from the northlands the ripe holly berries they eat
And they roost in small flocks on the hedgerows in Claramore west of Millstreet.

Through Claramore by Clara mountain the cold winds of December blow
And Caherbarnagh and the Paps of east Kerry are wearing their white hats of snow
The bare fields don't have any wildflowers it is a bleak time of the year
Though in the pubs around Duhallow at Christmas there is festive cheer.