TheOldHome©2023TonyFallon 1123

 TheOldHome©2023TonyFallon 1123

As summer days turn to winter thoughts often roam

And memories return to us of our childhood home

Many emigrants return there for Christmas week

For two months that is nothing else of which they speak

Since they left the homeland many years may have passed

But childhood memories just seem to last and last

It must be the same for a New Yorker in Montreal

As it is for a man who came from Donegal

The urge to be in familiar places can't be quelled

To roam again the homely places where they once dwelled

Driving round in hired cars there's little time for chats

But at night in the local bars you'll meet the expats

To see again the neighbor here from a distant part

To talk of days in the bog with the donkey and cart

Or talk of mighty games and great goals that were scored

Or the trusty Morris Minor a Volkswagen or Ford

The stories of youth now grow wilder and longer

And the brogue almost forgotten grows much stronger

As neighbors repeat their stories no one is a liar

And the visitor is often asked when he'll retire

There is good hearted ribbing and the laughter rings

And there is more joy there than in the home of kings

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