I ‘ll never leave me heart
Nor my Love in Ireland
A sweet lost I will be
When you see the heather bloom
Beyond the hills
Mourn not of me being in your arms
For
I ‘m there
Smell the heather in my golden hair
My Love, it twas’ you which placed it there?
When the cool breeze
Brush through your soul
My lips it will be
Kissing that of yours
Once more
Copyright 2010
Regis
Be always safe,
Karen
fee