‘I Dream of Sleepy Valleys’ © Joe Canning 2020. All Rights Reserved.

‘I Dream of Sleepy Valleys’
© Joe Canning 2020. All Rights Reserved.
I yearn for you my country,
To be be back on your soil,
To walk again thy hills and vales,
I wandered as a boy.
To climb again thy chestnut trees,
And leap thy grey stone walls;
That old folk built long long ago,
Whose ghosts to me still call.

Each time I see a picture of;
Thy pastures swarthy green,
In sadness and in ecstasy,
This emigrant soul doth scream,
To gaze upon thy beauty,
To pluck thy wild red rose
In thy land of saints and scholars,
Adorned in emerald clothes.

I dream of sleepy valleys,
From this spot so far away,
And the green abundant shamrock,
Kinfolk wear on Patrick’s day,
To see thy streams meandering,
Through valleys wild and wide,
To cool my face or quench my thirst,
In sparking nature’s wine.

I miss you my sweet Ireland,
The jigs, the reels, the songs,
I yearn to clean the clinging moss
From headstones of lost ones
To hear the brogue, to walk the road,
I walked to national school,
And squash the fallen conker,
As I did ‘neath boyhood shoes.

I am in sunset years of life,
My race is nearly run,
I doubt that I will again see,
Thy sinking Irish sun
But golden are my memories,
And although I’m far away,
I’ll proudly boast my shamrock,
When comes round St. Patrick’s Day.

 
Image | Christ the King, Glen of Aherlow and Galtee Mountains, Co Tipperary | Credit:  South Tipperary Images

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