From Old Claragatlea Poem by Francis Duggan

From old Claraghatlea i have been so long away
Perhaps i would feel a stranger there today
And to many there mine would be a stranger's face
Though i will always love it as my first home-place

But the old fields to me surely would look the same
I recall many of them by their given name
Where i grew to love Nature when i was a boy
And learning of her ways i still do enjoy

Old memories of my first home with me do remain
When the gray fog shrouded Clara one knew it would rain
And i fancy i can hear the silver tongued rill
As it babbles down-land from the field by the hill

Where i grew to a man and where i spent my prime
The old place would not have changed with the passage of time
And where i often hunted with Pudsy the dog
In Con the Master's fields and in Matty Owen's bog

The people grow old but the old fields stay the same
I recall many of them by their given name
The mental picture of them i always find
When i search through the old memories in my mind

The years have left me looking older and gray
And i may feel a stranger in Millstreet today
But the old fields as they were would surely remain
And in fancy i often walk on them again.