An Exile

image courtesy internet

 

Alone today I’m standing

On Australia’s burning sands,

A place that brought a fortune

And power to my command

But still its a little spot

In an Irish scene

That my heart with fondness wanders

‘Tis there its always been.

 

The people here are true and kind,

With a culture of their own

And ways so vastly different

from my little Irish home.

Australian I have never been

Or never can become,

And so in dreams I journey,

To the place where I came from.

 

O’er Bondi beach the sun goes high,

To a cloudless clear blue sky.

But I’d give it all for the River Foyle,

And blackbirds merry tune,

Or Binnion Hill all clad in green.

With its whins a mass of green.

Or dear Cloughcor, whose chapel bell,

Rings clear each day at noon.

At night as the sun sinks low,

And loud the dingo’s call,

‘Tis then in hope I see  once more,

My native place, Porthall.

 

Down memory lane I meet again,

My friends of long ago.

In happy days and youthful ways,

Each one of them I know.

Many years I’ve been away,

Great has been the change.

Yet, I hope to journey back

And pray some day I will.

So when the Master calls me home,

And whispers, “Life is done”

That I may forever sleep

On Murlog’s sloping hill

 

Author  Gerry Crawford 1988