Francis Duggan Poems

If you wish to make the World a better World to live in
Perhaps with some self improvement with yourself you begin
Since there is room for self improvement in us all
And any self improvement in itself it is never too small
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Of years of life he has lived five with four score
And he will end his days far south of his home-shore
And though a strong Scottish accent with him does remain
He may never see the old Country again
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The sound of their drumming echoes in the night
In the quiet of the park in the Autumn moonlight
Some does drum for war as an anger release
But these are the women who does drum for peace
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In some forms of twenty first century technology for Nature's beauty no win
Than the people and life around him his cell phone he was more interested in
Too busily enamored in the phone to even glance my way
On strangers to him he would not waste a good day
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He sings in all Seasons and every day of the year
The song of the Aussie magpie so pleasant to hear
He was born to sing such a beautiful song
You hear him sing once you cannot get him wrong.
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Across the wide brown Countryside the cool winds of late Autumn blow
And on a timber fence post the cawing of a pale eyed crow
Is echoing through the silence of the quiet Rural day
In four days the birth of Winter with the demise of May.
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Though not in his own district seen as one of note
He stands alone as Australia's greatest mystic poet
Though in his Hometown of Penola and Nhill where he once lived they honour his fame
Not that many around the Victorian -South Australian border would know of him by name.
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Her marriage that started in love it ended in divorce
The hopes she had of love till death they seemed to go off course
Her husband often beat her till enough one day she cried
And on a restraining order placed on him by the courts he was forced to abide.
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Some people i do not like and they do not like me
Suppose this is the way that we are meant to be
But i cannot bring myself to hating anyone
Despite any wrong to me they may have done
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Since late seventy three i have been a rhymer and for much longer than that a rhyming buff
And i am one who has done a lot of rhyming i have penned pages and pages of stuff
I used to daydream that i would be a writer one seen to be worthy of the title of poet
Though i never became one worthy of literary of note
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