Francis Duggan Poems

I still recall a memory from my childhood
Long years ago and many miles away
The robin on the flowering hawthron singing
And the high fields wore their wildflowers of the May.
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In her love songs the light of feelings shine
And to her credit not one slip shod line
And she could have lived on matured like good wine
But Sara chose to die at forty nine.
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The one on portrait hanging on the wall
Perhaps the best that history can recall
He lived and worked five hundred years ago
And still the legend of Leonardo grow.
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How come we hear so much about male heroes
And men feature mostly in brave deeds we recall
One would believe that there were never heroines
And that women not important after all? .
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The wombat leaves his home in ground at evening in the gloaming
And through the glen the wooded glen in search of sweet grass go roaming
And across the glen the silent glen the veil of darkness creeping
And silence reign under night's cloak and all day creatures sleeping.
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The man just past his fifty feels he's old
I'm getting on in years you hear him say
Whilst the fellow old enough to be his dad
Acts like one who is still in his prime day.
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The poet Oliver Goldsmith lives in his verse today
And his 'Deserted Village' refuse to decay
And despite times passage the great beauty still shines
Through many of the great poet's marvellous rhymes.
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The skylark sing above the mountain brow
And robin piping on the leafy bough
And lush green meads scent of the blooms of May
And it's Spring in a green Land far away.
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The wattle trees a blaze of yellow flowers
But it has rained all morning till mid day
The Sherbrooke woods are shrouded in gray fog
And Spring seem far so very far away.
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In Ballarat where history don't fade
They still honour the Eureka Stockade,
The miners who fought some of them even died
For their rights to them that for years they had been denied
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