A Claraghatlea Fellow Poem by Francis Duggan

I may die as I live quite close to poverty
And a Claraghatlea fellow is all I can be
And though I may live far from where Cails waters flow
I often recall places I used to know.

Old Townlands far north of this Southern Shore
Inchaleigh, Coomlogane, Annagloor, Claramore,
Coolikerane, Shannaknock, Ballydaly from here far away
In fancy I visit them often if not every day.

Without any success of which I could name
To be a Claraghatlea fellow my one claim to fame
It has been awhile now since my hair was dark brown
When I was a young man near old Millstreet Town.

It still flows on downland the old mountain rill
Through John D Murphy's fields in view of Clara Hill
And the song of the dipper I fancy I hear
The past though long gone to my thoughts ever near.

Few would even know me now in Millstreet Town
On the old streets that I often walked up and down
The years have left me looking balder and gray
And I would feel a stranger in Millstreet today.

Yet in fancy I'm back in the old fields again
And I hear the birds sing in the drizzling rain
In early Spring when wildflowers bloom and grass commence to grow
And the milder winds from the mountains do blow.