Old Clara in his hat of snow, the stream bank high is flowing
And across the wet and bare and deserted fields the cold north winds are blowing
Winter arrives in his cloak of gray on the first morning of December
And the redwings chirp on the bare hedgerows old memories I remember,
Cattle in the farm shed bellow for silage and hay and the hungry rooks are calling
And sparrows squabble for crumbs of bread by the back door as sleety rain is falling
The groves and hedgerows looking bare the weather wet and colder
And Spring it does seem far away as the old year grows older
The wanderlust was in my heart and I had dreams to follow
And I left those old fields years ago near Millstreet in Duhallow
I did not return to greet the May when wildflowers bloomed in the mild weather
And skylark carolled in the clouds above the hillside heather
But still a long way to the first of May from the first day of December
When the old hill wears his hat of snow a memory I remember.