Francis Duggan Poems

Her beauty it is all around us the beautiful Goddess supreme
And those not aware of her presence not very obversant 'twould seem
Her wildflowers of all shapes and colours her blossoming bushes and trees
The songs of her beautiful wild birds that carry in the freshening breeze.
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The employers should pay their workers for their work a fair pay
But for millions of workers around the World it is not this way
And thousands of millions are paid as little as a dollar a day
And for billions that life is tougher than tough does seem sad to say
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Where many the mother did grieve for her dead son
The heroes of long gone battles that were lost or won
They believed they were fighting for freedom and National pride
But was it for freedom that they fought and they died
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To say the least his needs are small
He is at his wife's beck and call
She does not allow him to go to the pub
Or to socialize at the football club.
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His nose and eyes are as dark as the wing of a crow
But his hair is as white as the new fallen snow
His bushy white tail curled over his back
And the only name he does answer to is Jack.
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The fox is hunting on the mountain there's no mistaking his wild cry
And the full moon is silently stealing it's way through the Autumn night sky
The boobook owl on the moonlit acacias utters forth his distinctive mopoke call
On a calm night in early April in the prime of the southern Fall
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I've lived for sixty one years in time quite a span
And I reside far from where my life's journey began
I have never been known as a succesful man
But I want to live on for as long as I can.
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That money speaks every language has often been said before
And what also applies to money is much always wants more
And that moneyed people rule the World is something we all know
The more money they accumulate the more their power does grow.
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Shoulder length brown hair one of beauty rare
Of which it did seem she was quite aware
More than three decades since her I last see
Nowadays she might be a stranger to me.
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Since I'm not a literary critic nor I'm not inclined that way
What is good or bad writing is not for me to say
But without all sorts of writers there would not be a Wordsmith trade
Though so few become famous and so few make the grade.
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