Francis Duggan Poems

He is such a cynical person as cynical as one can be
Yet he is a helpful sort of fellow and few as kindhearted as he
He does not believe politicians or the media and what he hears or read he makes up his own mind
Not the type to follow the leader his own way through life he does find
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Have you ever felt so despondent that in public you choke back the tears
And mentally you feel deflated you haven't felt this way for years
You feel that the World is against you of any hope in your life you despair
Remember there are many like you and people like you are not rare.
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He was the young dad of the sixties he is the old man of today
Married and divorced for the third time that's life as some are known to say
He is seven times a great grandfather one might say his flock multiply
And he is not yet finished with women he says he will give marriage at least one more try,
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When I was seven years old in nineteen fifty four
I hunted for rabbits in old Claramore
With Jack the brown working dog a young dog then
The boys of the fifties are now ageing men
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After eleven years as Prime Minister it does seem quite strange
That John Howard the ageing politician is talking of climate change
But this after all is an Election year
And of losing the top job is now his greatest fear.
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The past has gone that much we know
The past is gone and lost forever
And in the past we cannot stay
Though from the past we cannot sever.
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Around Halls Gap in Gariwerd with roo mobs them you see
The introduced red deer there living wild and free
Not as plentiful as grey kangaroos and yet by no means rare
Of danger posed by man and dog they seem all too aware
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At least he's not causing pollution of him that would be fair to say
He runs to the work yard in the morning and back home at the end of the day
A distance of some twelve kilometres that is six kilometres each way
A fitness fanatic and a hard working fellow for him never an easy pay.
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When fed seed by the well meaning they do become trusting of people
Which in a sense seems a small shame
They perch on heads and eat seeds from hand
And for their own good do become too tame
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Us humans like all other life forms are born to die
And death is for her and him and for you and for I
The millionaires and the paupers the great and the small
To the scythe of the Reaper one day have to fall
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