Francis Duggan Poems

I walked with her in dim light of the moon
Along the banks of Lake of Bonnie Doon
The moon beams like gold dust on her nut brown hair
And sweet scenting the perfume she did wear.
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I don't want to be a hero renowned for my bravery
All I want is heaps of money and of my worries I'd be free
To pay my bills I have to struggle I live close to poverty
I don't want to be a hero what use would that be to me? .
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The moon shines on the Araglen clear waters
And the trout for fly jump in the river pool
And in the gentle breeze new leaves are stirring
And the night air one might say a little cool.
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The mistle thrush as ever whistles on the poplar tree
But the past that once was very near now seems so far from me
The Spring to Summer quickly fade the Seasons come and go
And the tree has shed her autumn leaves and the hill wear cap of snow.
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Long years ago I had this dream of fame
That mine would live on as remembered name
That people would remember me and say
A legend once a legend still today.
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She saw the fairies dance on the tree tops
And when she told of what she'd seen the others said
She's been either smoking pot or into drugs
Or else the poor thing's not right in the head.
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One can say of old Dave he is a true agnostic he does not have a God that to he can pray
He says I do question a supreme being's existence or that Jesus Christ was born on Christmas Day
He says anyone has not come back to tell us about this imaginary after life
His Linda is a devout church going woman but Dave is very different from his wife
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'Tis true he is one found to be guilty of a very serious crime
But for that Denis Ferguson has served his prison time
A person should live where he or she chooses to live
Without harassment from the Compassionless who cannot forget or forgive.
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Though many of their love of it openly brag
The flag of a Nation to me just a flag
And since reasons for war I have never excused
Of being non patriotic I do stand accused
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The sun it is shining on a beautiful day
And the weather forecast has more of the same on the way
The magpies are singing on the sunlit trees
Their flute like notes carrying in the freshening breeze
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