A wee slip drawin’ water
Me oul’ man at the plough
No grown-up son or daughter
That’s the way we’re farming now.
‘No work and little pleasure’
Was the cry before they went
Now they’re getting’ both full measure
So I ought to be content.
Great wages men is givin’
In that land beyant the say
But ‘tis lonely, lonely livin’
Whin the childher is away.
Och, the baby in the cradle
Blue eyes an’ curlin’ hair
God knows I’d give a gra’die
To have wee Peader there
No doubt he’d find it funny
Lyin’ there upon me arm
Him, that’s earnin’ the good money
On a Californy farm.
Six pounds it was, or sivin
He sint last quarter day
But ‘tis lonely, lonely livin’
Whin the childher is away.
God is good, none bether
An’ the Divil might be worse
Each month there comes a letther
Bringin’ something for the purse.
And me oul’ man’s heart rejoices
When I read they’re doin’ fine
But it’s Oh! To hear their voices
An’ to feel their hands in mine.
To see the cattle drivin’
An’ the young ones makin’ hay
‘Tis a lonely land to live in
Whin the childher is away.
Whin the shadders do be fallin’
On the oul’ man there an’ me
‘Tis hard to keep from callin’
‘Come in childher, for yer tea!’
I can almost hear them comin’
Mary, Kate and little Con –
Och, but I’m the foolish woman
Shure they’re all grown up and gone.
That our sins may be forgiven
An’ I’m not wan to go astray
But I’d doubt I’d stay in Heaven
If them childher was away!
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Short Stories 
