Francis Duggan Poems

No nothing last forever that's what old Linda say
And on looking back the decades she can recall the day
When she and Joe as lovers they walked out hand in hand
But he is far from her today maybe in another Land.
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The one who does not bow to king or queen
And does not speak too loudly to be seen
And give support to and not put others down
This is the person who should wear the crown.
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On a gray gum by Silcock's road the pale eyed raven crow
Caws as did his ancestors many centuries ago
And those old hills of Toora that overlook their name sake Town
In the warm days of the Summer change from Spring green to brown.
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She looks out through the window on her neighbour's garden whilst talking to her friend on the phone
And she feels she is without blemish so she can cast the stone
And her stones of course are verbal stones and words are quite hurtful too
And with her words one well might say she has harmed quite a few.
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He won't be going back to the field by the high wood by the hill
And walk along by the old stream whose tongue is never still
He is happy in this tropical town of sun shine every day
And he doesn't pine for what has been and brown hills far away
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Of her she was quite fearful though she did not have a gun
A so called devout woman this Roman Catholic nun
She often beat her rather brutally by her she was defiled
When she was quite defenceless a seven years old child.
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The last time I saw Clara he wore a hat of snow
And across the fields of Claraghatlea the wintery winds did blow
And the swollen stream in flood of brown through Claramore did flow
And close to seventy seasons since have passed for that was long ago.
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He may live far so far from France
But old Michel can sing and dance
And he can party on till late
If there's something to celebrate
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In the old fields of Inchaleigh where Finnow waters flow
The hunting foxes bark all night as they did years ago
When I was young and stronger and perhaps at my prime
Before I like all of the others had to bow to father time.
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They have arrived from Siberia's cold northern shore
Eight thousand miles as the crow fly from here or maybe more
High above the coasts and cliffs by the sea
They do not need a passport these creatures are free.
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