Francis Duggan Poems

Such a nice work of Nature and pretty for to see
And pleasant for to scent it's leaves the peppercorn tree
To look at not unlike the weeping willow it's branches hanging down
A thing of natural beauty in a garden of the town,
...

In his nostalgic fligths of fancy he see the old bohreen
And the old fields and the valleys in their many shades of green
And the hawthorns trees resplendent in their fragile white blossoms of the May
Here he will always be a migrant from a Country far away.
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A perfect human being I doubt in the whole World you'd find
For perfection a word that cannot be used to describe the human kind
We all have our own failings the imperfections in others I can see
Though I never see the imperfections of the imperfect me,
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It will not matter then what others of me will say
That I worked hard or was lazy in every way
For the judgements of others the dead cannot hear
The one good thing about death it frees us of all fear
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In the modern literary World rhyme is seen as out of date
And the long dead and the renowned rhyme writers few bother to celebrate
But I must be old fashioned one of another time
For I am one of those blokes who loves old fashioned rhyme
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Far north even as the crow fly from here far away
In leafy groves, woods and hedgerows nesting birds sing all day
And blackbird will sing his fanfare of the May
Before the sun rise in the dawn cool and gray,
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At the top of people's new year's wish list you won't find poverty
For money speaks every language as most would agree
A lack of money in people causes low self esteem
Money is the most important thing to most it does seem
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He does not sleep that well at night though his troubles are small
The possums walking on his roof the rats squeak in the wall,
The boobook owl is crying mopoke on the trees across the way
He used to sleep without once waking till after break of day.
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Fools always rush in where angels fear to thread
And heroes and cowards they are equal when dead
And death does make equal the coward and the brave
And the worm the only form of life in the grave,
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From them only negative stuff we do hear
They tell us who to trust and tell us who to fear
We want to believe the lies to us they tell
They promise Utopia and give us Earthly Hell.
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