Francis Duggan Poems

When Chesterton penned his poem on the donkey he had more than the donkey in mind
In that great poem there are many lessons and in each line of it a lesson you'll find
His message was mainly to people for some people with their words can be cruel
And some people not unlike the donkey become subjects of ridicule.
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The World's many billion people controlled by the greedy few
But to every billionaire there is there are a million who
Go to sleep weak and hungry their wasted bodies thin
For days they haven't eaten their bones showing through their skin.
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The toasting glass in their honour we should raise
The kind of heart they are worthy of our praise
To help those in need they go out of their way
Just for to be helpful and without asking for pay
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'Life wasn't meant to be easy' a quote from George Bernard Shaw
But from that familiar saying your own conclusion you draw
Those words maybe for the masses for those who drudge on and then die
But life wasn't meant to be easy to everyone does not apply.
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They will always be the first Australians that privilege to them alone belong
Their ancestors lived in Australia sixty thousand years ago and their bond to Nature strong
The children of the Dreamtime they should take pride of place
As the Aboriginal people of this southern Land but such is not the case.
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I left my love in the Fairy Glen
Home of the litte fairy men
I met her there on a July night
When a Summer moon was beaming bright.
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No matter what our Nationality our colour or our creed
We are air breathing mortals and when we cut we bleed
We may look on them as inferior as weeds amongst the flowers
But the proof of their equality is their blood flows red like ours.
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She is quite a beautiful looker a thing that she already knows
But one thing that does give her bother is she feels that she has a big nose
And each time she looks in the mirror a big nose is all she can see
But what she feels is on the large side does seem rather petite to me.
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One can hear the voice of sorrow sobbing, sobbing endlessly
Yet it hides in dark recesses sorrow you can never see
It's a black and brooding creature with a voice that aches of pain
And all of those who have met with it hope not to meet with it again.
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Oh Ireland Mother Ireland brave men for you have been shot
But are you worth one cup of human blood you most certainly are not
Your noble sons who fought for you by British guns were slain
But what value to a dead hero is worthless immortal name.
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