Ode to Ireland

093

Fly Me Home by Michael Snow

There’s green in the valley, the green of the lea
Some say there are forty shades, there well may be
The green of the river in rush to the sea
More green than you ever dreamed

A rare little island with a heart and a soul
A brave little island when the story is told
Fly me home, fly me home, fly me home, fly me home

There’s white on the waves as they crash to the west
And white is the strand where the foam comes to rest
The white of the walls standing firm down the years
The vision won’t disappear

A rare little island with a heart and a soul
A brave little island when the story is told
Fly me home, fly me home, fly me home, fly me home

There’s gold in the light of a pale northern sun
And gold in the field when the harvest’s begun
The thatch on the cottages, mellowed and fine
Old gold with the touch of time

A rare little island with a heart and a sould
A brave little island when the story is told
Fly me home, fly me home, fly me home, fly me home

164

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