The Holy Ground

I was born on the holy ground
A running child in fields of clover
I was living in the grandeur
Of my father’s land

By the side of the swirling sea
I spent the days of childish wonder
And the rocks I held in my young hands
I never felt them slip away

Well the sun shone bright upon the waves
And the wind blew high as I was leaving
And I sailed so far away
Looking for adventure

But I would not stay where the city streets
proclaimed so loudly man’s endeavours
Though music is a pretty thing
in fine company
And the wilderness took my breath away
I felt I had to find my way
Where no-one ever goes

It was in the south that my new home lay
With a dark eyed boy and wild horses
With humming birds and roses there
in old Mexico

There the winds of change they blew so far
Of liberty and revolution
And it seemed that each man heard in his breast
the drumming of a nation

By Gerry O’Beirne

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