The Man From Boherbue Poem by Francis Duggan

The robin piped his finest on flowering hawthorn tree
And the wildering flowers were blooming in the fields of Boherbue
And apple tree was wearing pale blossoms of the May
On the day that he left Boher the memory with him stay.

For twenty five years a migrant in south Pacific Land
And his mid Duhallow accent some still don't understand
And a migrant in Australia is all he'll ever be
But that doesn't seem to worry the man from Boherbue.

Twenty five years in Australia he doesn't use words like 'mate'
And the accent of the Aussie he does not imitate
In Rome do as the Romans do with such he doesn't agree
The accent that I have he says has always been with me.

He still recall the schoolhouse yard, the ball games he did play
With school friends from his boyhood years he wonders where are they?
The far off hills look far more green some have been known to say
And many went from Boherbue to settle far away.

On the mountains east of Melbourne he lives with his Aussie wife
And their first grandchild was born this year they now are in mid life
And a migrant in this Southern Land is all he'll ever be
But that doesn't seem to worry the man from Boherbue