Francis Duggan Poems

When I fall to the scythe of the Reaper it will not matter then
If in life I'm not seen as a man amongst men
The great gift of breath from me forever gone
I will be with Nature and life will go on
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Tonight my mind is full of memories of the old home far away
By the Killarney Road near Millstreet Town where I first saw light of day
The male robin by the old house piped on the cypress tree
The Spring sun upon his red breast in fancy I can see
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Behind the citizens band through the streets lined with people he is played up and down
In the back seat of his chauffeur driven car he is welcomed to town
The Government minister he waves to the crowd
With a smile that resembles a smirk on his face he does look smug and proud.
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On Very few things we do seem to agree
For you look at life in ways different to me
The company you keep ranked well above mine
You drink top shelf liquor and I drink cheap wine
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The biological clock is ticking and time's not on my side
And from the one known as the Reaper not anywhere for to hide
Some five and thirty years ago I was in my life's prime
And only in the memory can one go back in time
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Since disrespect to other people they only ever show
Some that I do know of I do not wish to know
Of domineering judgemental people it does seem sad to say
That they cannot help the way they are since they are born this way
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My better days in life may well be long gone
But never you worry I'll keep penning on
Of life and of Nature there is so much to say
And from living one learns something new every day
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It is not it's wealth or military power that makes a Country great
No it's the Nations with good Human rights we ought to celebrate
Where people are not persecuted for speaking their minds or for their religion, gender or race
The Country with good Human rights deserve to be in a more
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'Tis hard for you to smile when you are feeling down
And seen as one of the none achievers of the town
Your partner has left and taken with her the children and to you won't be back
And the tunnel of your life is looking quite black
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In his time a giant amongst literary men
'Twas said that he escaped from the Devil's den
By church leaders in Ireland the puritan class
His poems at that time the censor did not pass
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