Francis Duggan Poems

With pikes we tossed out the hay for sun and wind to dry
On warm Summer days in a distant July
Yet in fancy i can get the sweet scent of hay
Wafting in the warm breeze in the heat of the day
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It is not an addiction the law sees as a crime
But nonetheless tis addictive this addiction to rhyme
So many penning stuff they cannot sell
I am not the only one who writes doggerel.
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If wise women led Governments it would seem to me
We would not hear of wars and less talk of poverty
For war would become extinct and poverty would be on the decrease
And we would be on our way to a lasting World peace,
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I told my friend of my big worries and of the recent stresses I've known
But with a shake of his head and a shrug of his shoulders he said i have worries of my own
And remember what happened to Jesus can you name me one better than he
He was beaten and humiliated and crucified on Calvary.
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In the sky the sun brightly shining the blue sky with some clouds of gray
On an afternoon in late October another near to perfect day
The white surf waves are gently rolling one reason no surfer in sight
And the silver gulls on the white beach search for food in the warm sunlight
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Near the Town where i spent many Seasons mine nowadays might be a strange face
But so many migrants not unlike me become strangers in their homeplace
Where once many people did know them they would pass as strangers today
The years have left them looking older though they may hide their natural gray
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He won't sing for the wealthy tycoons and he won't sing for those who died brave
The heroes who died in great battles still honoured though they are long in the place of the dead in their grave
But he always sings of the have nots of those who through life do battle their way
The singer who sings songs of the have nots is the forgotten one of today
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The grey shrike thrush is singing in the woodlot
His beautiful whistle so pleasant to hear
One who does rate as one of the finest songsters
Of south east Australia in the Spring of the year.
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If others you never harm in any way or defame
Then of your social standing why should you feel shame
It matters little what others think of you
To live as a good person your best you always do,
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I salute the reaper for he treats all as equal he claims the life of the pauper and the billionaire
He reaps the tall poppies and the weeds of the garden and he claims every life in the big World out there
He is the sharp scythe of ageless Mother Nature the life of anyone he never does spare
He swings his great scythe and leaves behind him sorrow as he moves on his way to claim more lives elsewhere
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