Francis Duggan Poems

I am not a sugar daddy though one i would like to be
As some attractive money loving young women in their twenties would feign love of me
Just to use me for my money at my expense have a good time
The wealthy man sought by some young women though he is long past his prime
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It does not matter what race or color you are black or white or brown
Or if you are quite wealthy or a poor one of the town
Or if you live as homeless or drive a brand new expensive car
It only matters at your life's journey end the person that you are
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To your memories your past does only belong
And time does not wait it keeps ticking along
The now is all that does matter since yesterday has gone
And tomorrow will dawn and life will go on
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I am from the place where the waterways meet
In the green countryside by the Town of Millstreet
Claraghatlea in view of high Claramore
In distance far north of this southern shore
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Times can be tough on you life can be this way
But tomorrow for you can be your greatest day
Laugh and the World laughs with you as some do like to say
But hard for you to laugh with big bills to pay
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The booing of famous A F L footballer and former Australian of the year Adam Goodes a moment of Australian shame
Just racism in the name of sport for want of a better name
By a crowd of racist yobbos who will never know of fame
But for the bad behavior of a loutish minority a whole Nation of people not to blame
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The fellow who says little he is known far and wide
He is a talented though humble person without secrets to hide
Not into self promotion he is not that sort of man
And if he thinks you are one in need of helping he will help you if he can
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Rain drizzling from a sunless sky and a cool chill in the breeze
In coastal south west Victoria it is only ten degrees
On an evening in late October in the City of Warrnambool
In Spring in this part of Australia the weather sometimes windy, wet and cool
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It Is Something I Have Written of Often Before
I write rhymes for enjoyment and little else more
But never for money or literary fame
At writing rhymes few for themselves ever do make a name
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In the park she will never be seen again
Mental images of her are all that does remain
Sandra in her mid eighties was buried today
Among the town's deceased at peace she does lay
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