Francis Duggan Poems

The last time I saw young Jo Jo the wind tossed her long brown hair
On a bright and breezy morning when Spring was in the air
As she passed me by on the footpath she smiled and said hello
Her eyes were as brown as ripe chestnuts and her teeth as white as snow.
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The last true wild horses of Planet Earth of them it has been said
Of stocky build with dark brown mane and coloured brown to red
Przewalski's horse it is their name in the wild state now quite rare
In the Gobi desert years ago they were seen everywhere.
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Oh ancient hill of Clara I've not seen you for sometime
And I am getting on in life and years beyond my prime
Long years ago in July from your green het I picked the dark ripe berry
And viewed the countryside for miles around that stretches far into Kerry.
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A car on the roadway a dog barking nearby,
The calmness is profound stars twinkle in the sky,
I feel a peace within on this cool July night
The air has a slight chill and the moon full and bright.
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When last I was in Buninyong 'twas cold enough to snow
And down through Warrenheip street the chilly winds did blow
But the familiar faces looked happy fit and well
As they drunk beer and swapped stories in the Bunny Crown Hotel.
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In cemeteries far north of here thousands of miles away
The heroes of my school going days in eternal rest now lay
They were not famous as fame goes their's was a local fame
But they felt proud of who they were and proud of their good name.
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We were in the same classroom in Millstreet Primary school
And Donal was a clever boy he never once sat on the dunce's stool
He still lives in the old home in Inchaleigh though I live far away
From Clara hill near Millstreet Town and the fields of Claraghatlea.
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I long to be away from here from the noisy haunts of men
By the creek that flows through the woodlet home of the blue fairy wren
Where the clear notes of the butcherbird are floating in the breeze
And the wattlebirds are calling on the flowering banksia trees.
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When you talk of winners and losers with you I can't agree
We are such different people and we see things differently
You see them all as failures all of those in poverty
And what you say of losers also applies to me.
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She said to me you silly bloke your ego needs to be deflated
Just with the minor doggerelists suppose you can be rated
Your minor fame will die with you like the flowers of December
And the many rhymes that you composed none will care to remember.
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