I have walked about Manhattan, Travelled on many an autobahn, Have been along the Appian Way And strolled the streets of Amsterdam. Yet I’ve never found that peace of mind That I knew when danderin’ there, On a half-mile stretch of roadway By that river in East Clare. For there wholesomeness abounded And sweet innocence held sway – Where ‘twixt hawthorne hedge and ferned bank, Just to breathe was … yes, to pray! Ah, this old world’s a great, but sore-tormented place, And as time went by and bothers came, pressures grew apace. But for a stress-filled heart, I found the very best antidote Was the peacefulness and sweet mountain air blowing softly along that road. Hereabout the folk had hearts that were lawhey and sincere, And hearty laughs were frequent, with none but the loving tear; Where summer showers produced glowing wild flowers That pleased the eye and perfumed the air. And the land all about so kindly cared for – Green fields from hands that loved each sod, And the golden corn’s each swaying ear Fulfilling the great promise of the year. And there, when things looked bad, I’ve pulled the linch-pin From the tailboard of my cartload of weariness and cares And upended them all – then returned refreshed to face All that this life could throw at me – with defiant sun burnt gaze.