The Town of Oughterard
By Micheal O'Connor
There’s a town in Connemara; it’s the gateway to the West
Where thousands come each year to see, a landscape that’s the best
It is the town of Oughterard, most pretty to behold;
Favourite place for anglers, they come here young and old.
It’s always nice and breezy, beside the Corrib shore
Its people are as friendly still as in the days of yore;
They bid each one a welcome, to their lovely town each year,
And thousands keep returning, to this place of joy and cheer.
The fishing season starts in Spring, the mayfly’s in demand.
Great excitement everywhere, the town it gets jammed,
The sounds of Irish music, drifting through the air.
The season it has started, no one has a care.
The area is historical as O’Flaherty’s stronghold.
For years they fought the Norman’s, the famous Tribes of old.
We still have their Castle, here in Aughnanure,
To remind us of those stirring times, when fighting was the cure,
So in Oughterard the scene is set, for yet another year.
When people start returning, to this place of joy and cheer,
And this routine it goes on and on, while we keep growing old
But always being reminded, of the blessings here untold.