Carrowmore (Clinton Scollard Poems)
The gray winds call o'er Carrowmore, Call in the white of the dawn, And the grasses sigh o'er Carrowmore ...
The gray winds call o'er Carrowmore, Call in the white of the dawn, And the grasses sigh o'er Carrowmore ...
IT'S a lonely road through bogland to the lake at Carrowmore, And a sleeper there lies dreaming where the water ...
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