The Green and Red of Mayo


Oh the green and red of Mayo, I can see it still.
It’s soft and craggy bog lands, its tall majestic hills.
Where the ocean kisses Ireland and the waves caress its shore.
And the feeling it came over me, to stay forever more, forever more.



From its rolling  costal waters, I can see Croagh Patrick’s peak.        
Where one Sunday every summer, the pilgrims climb the reek.       
Where St. Patrick in his solitude, looks out across Clew bay.         
And with the ringing of his bell, called the faithful there to pray, there to pray.

Take me to Clare island, the home of Granuaile.
Its water’s harbor fishes, from the herring to the whale.
And now I must depart it, and reality is plain,
May the time not pass so slowly, til I set sail again,
set sail again.