Ennistymon on the Inagh
Le Tadhg O hEagráin
I’m no poet, I’ve no pen, but my story I’ll relate,
Concerning my childhood, sure I know ‘tis my fate,
In a town in a valley, I was brought up with care,
Ennistymon on the Inagh, On the West Coast of Clare.
The waters of Inagh, come tumbling down,
‘Neath the bridge o’er the falls, quite close to the town,
Stand and look if you’re passing, any bet I will dare,
To equal my cradle, on the West Coast of Clare.
From the East and the West, from the world all around,
The tourist come flocking, our sights they abound,
But there’s none so lovely, so happy or fair,
As my dear little village, on the West Coast of Clare.
There are places of fancy, of fame and renown,
But my choice is my birth place, my own little town,
Snuggly nestled and happy, no trouble or care,
In my dear little village, on the West Coast of Clare.
Come ye back our dear exiles, to the green hills of Clare,
To your home in the valley, your cradle lies there,
All your loved ones and neighbours, your joy they will share,
With a Cead mile failte, to the West Coast of Clare.
Sure we all will assemble, in our own little town,
Our birth place is calling, we can’t let it down,
We’ll fly or hitch hike it, or go by shanks mare,
To that town in the valley on the West Coast of Clare.
There’s a grave near the village, up on Moughanna hill,
Sure it’s the finest that ever you’ve seen,
Won’t you bury me decent, and lay me down there,
On the hill oe’r the village, on the West Coast of Clare.
Brother Michael F. O’Conchuir of Woodmount, Ennistymon
Colleen Degnan Johnson