From a high field by Clara it babbles downhill
With a silver tongue that is never still
Down to Claraghatlea it flows with a will
The waterway known to some as the Claramore Rill
On Claraghatlea Bridge on an evening in Spring
How lovely to listen to the dipper sing
The dark brown water bird of breast white as snow
By sight or by song that everyone seem to know
[read more …] “The Claramore Rill”