IV
There's some things that run on in your mind
like a thread that's onevenly spun
Down your coat-sleeve; for, afther these years, I
most see him stand clear in the sun;
But now, be worse luck, I can tell what I couldn't
ha' tould that day—
The notion he had in his head, whin he said it
an' turned away.
To be ould—sure, considh'rin' the time ye'll
be growin' so before your own eyes,
It's quare how whinever ye think o't it seems like
a sort o' surprise;
My belief's that if people were sevinty the very
first day they were born,
They'd never git used to it rightly, and if, be odd
chance, some fine morn
The ouldest ould man in the counthry would find
whin he wakened that he
Was a slip of a lad, he'd just feel it the nathur'lest
thing that could be.
So it's noways too sthrange if wan's sometimes
forgittin' awhile how things stand,
Like the ould chap at Ballynagraile, whin his
mind was tuk up wid our Band.