Francis Duggan Poems

It was on a bleak December a cold and wintery day
And the fields around the old home were looking frosty gray
And darkening clouds in sunless sky told sleet or rain was near
And i said farewell to Millstreet and places i loved dear.
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Ricardo is a poet from Argentina
And at South American dancing few with him compare
And he has become known around South Gippsland
And sad to say men like him now are rare.
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The great poet from Gloucester Ivor Gurney he did not live for to be old and gray
He died aged forty seven in a Dartford mental hospital his memory prematurely in decay
He had fought in war knew a brief spell of glory but the literary biographers recall
That he was one who suffered for his genius and his life was sad and tragic overall.
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It may effect your sense of self worth in some way
The negative things about you others say
It bothers you they have you in their 'gun'
Because you've never harmed anyone.
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He left her at Aubane cross on a sunny morn in May
He kissed the tearful maid goodbye and then the motor car sped away
His driver drove towards Shannon for Australia he was bound
He had left Aubane and Millstreet and was leaving Irish ground.
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I had not seen John and Eileen for years
And saying goodbye brought me that close to tears
For those last goodbyes are always hard to say
And this time next week they will be far away
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From lamp of sun he hide himself away
And in timbered country rest during the day
And his camouflage so good 'twould seem that he
Is decaying wood that fork from branch of tree.
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His ancestors were the first Australians and they came here sixty thousand years ago
But Denis doesn't seek advantage of his heritage a more honourable person I have yet to know
No he is one who never seek advantage he is a moral man in every way
And if everybody were like Denis Kadman the World to live in would be quite okay.
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She arrived here from Mexico City about seventeen years ago
And she's just had her thirty eight birthday a night out with her husband Joe
They live in Box Hill in Victoria where he has lived for most of his life
And she says in her beautiful accent 'me lucky to be good man's wife'.
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The moorhen chirp where rank grass grow
On bank by where Sullane waters flow
And wild flowers in their billions bloom
In meadows just out of Macroom.
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