Francis Duggan Poems

A blue April Autumn sky without a cloud of gray
The sun shining bright in the park by the bay
The silver bill magpie flutes on a gum tree
And how lovely to hear the song of the pee wee
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Street pigeons are descended from rock doves they perch and roost and preen on roofs and ledges of the big buildings of the town
It is in their d n a for them to live in the way they do from their ancestors in their genes to them passed on down
By sight or sound they are quite recognizable a deep sort of throaty guttural sound they make
In towns and cities where they do live known to many from other birds them one should not mistake
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Though in Newmarket he did live some of his life span
In Millstreet he was born and raised and grew into a man
A quiet sort of a fellow with few words to say
Though about him he did have a very nice way
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A long way from here to his old home in Kabul in Afghanistan
Mohammad till the day he die will be a homesick man
He arrived in this Southern Land as a boat refugee
Perhaps Kabul his Hometown he is never more to see
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Every time i look out my window i see her creations there
The beauty created by Mother Nature is around us everywhere
The sun is shining in the blue sky on a pleasant day with a slight breeze
For Autumn such very nice weather of temperatures around twenty degrees
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What is a good person you are asking me
A good person be it a she or a he
Does not differentiate between black, white and brown
And be willing to help out the one who is financially down
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He is tired of the boredom of his humdrum life
And tired of being nagged at by his ageing wife
Always trying to goad him into a verbal fight
Whatever he does with her does not seem right
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In South Australia it is warm for most of the year
Though even to the sub tropics not anywhere near
A temperate climate it has we are told
Though there it never does get near to cold
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The men who built the stone walls at peace forever lay
They came to the South Country from places far away
Their walls of stone a testament to their stone buildings skills across the stony countryside
Men who worked hard for little pay who in their work took pride
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If i could live forever i would write rhymes every day
Of people and of Nature and places near and far away
I would leave it to the poets to write their poetry i would keep writing in rhyme
But i know i will not live forever i am already running out of time
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