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(E.Y. "Yip" Harburg/Burton Lane) |
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I hear a bird, a Londonderry bird |
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It well may be he's bringing me a cheering word |
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I hear a breeze, a river shannon breeze |
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It well may be it's followed me across the sea |
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Then tell me please |
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How are things in Glocca Morra? |
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Is that little brook still leaping there? |
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Does it still run down to Donny Cove |
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Through Killybegs, Kilkerry and Kildare? |
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How are things in Glocca Morra? |
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Is that willow tree still weeping there? |
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Does that laddy with the twinklin' eye |
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Come whistling by? |
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And does he walk away sad and dreamy there? |
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Not to see me there? |
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So I ask each weeping willow |
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And each brook along the way |
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And each lad that comes a whistling |
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Tooralay |
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How are things in Glocca Morra this fine day? |
