Francis Duggan Poems

From Baxters Land I may be a long drive away
But in my flights of fancy I am back there today
And the magpie he pipes from his silvery bill
And the gray roos through the bracken do bound up the hill
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One might say I've written a whole heap of stuff
Some of it uneven and some of it rough
And most of it in truth is not up to par
Just your average penman many better by far
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Gone Back To Nature as some like to say
It was a good man whose remains were buried today
He loved his children and he loved his wife
And he was a man who loved people and life
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The place I was born in and where I was raised
In my rhymes of nostalgia I often have praised
I left there when Clara wore his hat of snow
And Finnow bank high through the old fields did flow
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The Irish travellers I envied when I was a boy
Their wandering existence they seemed to enjoy
About them they did have such a carefree way
'Tis a different Ireland from the one I was raised in today.
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The more I learn of Nature The more I realize so little of her I do know
And my wonder of her only does seem to grow
Each day a new wonder in her for to see
Though her secrets are many and hidden from me
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You may be the most famous and wealthiest one in the town
And your's may be more than a local renown
But with your success do not get carried away
For you too there will be a reckoning day.
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Physically I have known a far better day
And my friends from me too have drifted away
But no use in lamenting for what used to be
Since that would be of little help to me.
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When the silent majority speaks out they do sound to say the least shrill
The Bill Henson affair one example the artist with a camera Bill
His photographs of a pubescent female seen by some as pornographic evil in beauty some do see
This seems just like another Witch-hunt at least that's how it seems to me.
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I may not grow old where I live at present and who knows where I'll live out my life span
I was born and raised far north in Duhallow and I will die as a Millstreet man
And when the reaper takes the life's breath from me who knows where my bones are destined to lay
Perhaps in some southern graveyard far from where I first saw lamp of day.
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