In His Nostalgic Flights Of Fancy

In His Nostalgic Fligths Of Fancy He See The Old Bohreen
And The Old Fields And The Valleys In Their Many Shades Of Green
And The Hawthorns Trees Resplendent In Their Fragile White Blossoms Of The May
Here He Will Always Be A Migrant From A Country Far Away.

Seven Times A Great Grandfather And Time Is Ticking On
A Primary Schoolboy Of The Late Forties But The Forties Has Long Gone
He Has Not Seen His Remaining Siblings For Thirty Years Or More
And A Lot Of Changes In The Old Hometown Since He Left His Homeland Shore.

Two Of His Siblings Now Deceased A Brother And Sister Now Remain
With Their Families In The Old Hometown That He May Not See Again
In The Old Town He’d Feel A Stranger Now And There Few Of Him Would Know
He Was A Well Known Fellow There Some Forty Years Ago.

His Wife Of Forty Two Years In The Cemetery Now Lay
She Passed On Quietly In Her Sleep Six Years Ago Today
He Visits Her Grave Site Every Month To Place Flowers By Her Headstone
Without The Truest Friend He’s Ever Had He Is Growing Old Alone.

In His Nostalgic Flights Of Fancy He Can Hear And See
The Pink Breasted Bullfinch Singing On A Leafy Silver Birch Tree
And The Familiar Voice It Comes To Him Of The Silver Tongued Mountain Rill
As It Babbles Towards The River Down The High Field By The Hill.

More Shayari by Francis Duggan
28 Jun 2008 No Comment 6

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