It is not the Homeland that I think of but mostly about the Homeplace <br />About the old Town I was born and raised near where mine did become a known face <br />The home of the snipe and the badger, the jackdaw the rook and gray crow <br />I will die a migrant from Duhallow where the mighty Blackwater flow <br /> <br />Through old fields that will be forever by many a wood and hedgerow <br />It has babbled on towards the Atlantic for how long would anyone know <br />Through North Cork in flood it often rages in it's swirling flood waters of brown <br />On to the Atlantic near Youghal by many a village and town. <br /> <br />A migrant from distant Duhallow is all that I ever can be <br />If I told you anything different the one I'd be fooling is me <br />My accent did come from Duhallow and the Duhallow brogue I retain <br />I am a migrant in this Country and as a migrant here I will remain <br /> <br />Till my life will be claimed by the Reaper the Reaper who claims the lives of all <br />Eventually sooner or later to his sharp scythe everyone fall <br />But it is not the Homeland I think of but my Homeplace near the Town of Millstreet <br />And that lush and green and beautiful landscape where the Finnow and Blackwater meet.<br /><br />Francis Duggan<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/it-is-not-the-homeland/
