Francis Duggan Poems

He does love his football his meat pie and beer
And when his team win so loudly he does cheer
He talks with his footy mates at the local pub
Of the weekend game and the winning chances of the club
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To the Reaper's scythe all things of life must fall
There is a last day and night for us all
Except for Nature she will be living on
When the breath of life from you and I long gone
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Claraghlatlea between Millstreet Town and Ballydaly
Where mine was once a very well known face
But there today I feel I'd be a stranger
And changes occuring in my old Homeplace.
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For many years now I have been a rhyme buff
One might say I have written a whole heap of stuff
But to rhyme is so easy as easy can be
So easy to you and so easy to me.
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The greatness of the greats we well may recall
But the hero to many not a hero to all
Not everyone holds big names in high esteem
Some are not easy to impress it does seem
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If there is a God That God is not for you and yours alone God is for everyone
And for every man and woman and their daughter and their son
When you say God is for you and all of your religion it shows how arrogant you must be
God is in every good living Human Being that's how it would seem to me
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In life he was a pop music icon and much of him written and said
And he received some very bad press but now that he is dead
He is mourned by the masses pop music fans Worldwide
For to become sort of a Demigod the supposedly flawed living legend died.
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I have loved Mother Nature since I was a young boy
And learning more about her in my many walks I do enjoy
And than her no better teacher believe that if you may
At least I learn from her something new every day
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Of the selfish side of Humanity I am only too aware
In a World where the self centred for the have nots one thought don't have to spare
Even in so called wealthy Democratic Countries poverty is not rare
And thousands must grow poorer for every new millionaire
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The narrow road by old Mushera it winds up and down
The backway from Cork through Rylane that ends at Millstreet Town
In Winter the drivers crawl slow through the fog
That steals down the mountain and cloaks Togher Bog
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