Francis Duggan Poems

I've decided to become an Aussie on paper but by my manner of speaking would you not agree
That i would not pass as a fair dinkum Aussie an Aussie on paper is all i can be
We all do belong to the greater human family and i am what you hear but not what you see
Whenever i open my mouth and start speaking none ever does say there's an Aussie in me
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In memory i only can go back in time
And in memory i only can re-live my prime
But the now is what matter as the rational say
And the past just a memory of a bygone day
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Though beauty in the eyes of the beholder or so we are told
Few can see any beauty in a face that is old
But from living experience one becomes more wise
Which after all does come at no big surprise
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Her shoulder length hair is as dark as the wing of a crow
The girl from the place where the brown Murray flow
Through bare paddocks of the Coorong to the Pacific shore
The river that will flow on forever more
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I overheard a young boy saying to his mother as i did walk by them on the street
Gee that old fellow does look very old mum children in their innocence are not discreet
His mother must have known i did overhear him as she did blush a bit on saying good day
But i pretended as if i had not heard i smiled in passing and went on my way
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It has been awhile now since i have seen old Ron
Perhaps he lives elsewhere in life he has moved on
Though in his mid seventies the wander bug in him strong
A man of the World to the World he belong
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I always have loved our Earth Mother since i was a young school going boy
Of her i have such marvelous memories that i do remember with joy
I retain mental images of first seeing and hearing a skylark a musical speck in the sky
And even when lost to my view i could hear him as into low clouds he did fly,
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Eventually we all do run out of time
But for as long as the rhymer lives he or she never runs out of rhyme
For the rhymer to rhyme to do is an easy thing
In their rhymes to the World the rhymers love to sing
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Her shoulder length wavy hair as dark as the wing of a crow
And her eyes as dark blue as the ripe Autumn sloe
Near the prime of her life a year with a score
The beautiful smiling Rose of Semaphore
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I thought i had worries till to my surprise
That my cares are far smaller than i do realize
So many have far bigger problems than me
All things can be relative would you not agree
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