Francis Duggan Poems

You sing your own praises as you drink your fill
Suppose you may as well do since none other will
Sing of your praises their own praises they sing
Self praise that was frowned on is now the in thing.
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The bluebells bloom on the ditch of the bohreen
And Claraghatlea groves looking leafy and green
And the stream down the high fields of Claramore flow
To join the river from Kippagh by briery hedgerow
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Everyone for themselves and God for us all
A saying from my younger years that I recall
In the twenty first century with some 'tis that way
Old habits die hard as some are known to say
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You don't have to tell me I already know
That money on bushes or on trees does not grow
Or dogs can't play guitars or worms can't sing
Or an eagle can't soar after breaking a wing.
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Young D B is a person well worthy of note
A talented artist and a marvellous poet
The most sought after young unmarried man by the young unmarried women of the town
He is one who is on the way to renown.
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'Tis easy quite easy for to criticize
But for highlighting flaws in others you will not win a prize
We dislike in others things in ourselves we see
With whoever first said that how could one disagree,
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They finance your home and they finance your car
A necessary evil is all that they are
Those behind on their car loan repayments their cars they re-possess
Of the financial hardship they cause their customers they couldn't care less
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So many streets and roadways I've driven up and down
Since I left Claraghatlea west of old Millstreet Town
And though I live far south of Clara Mountain today
The old fields from my thoughts are never far away
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In Johnny Hickey's field in view of Clara hill
We used to catch elvers in the old Glasheen Rill
In jam jars for the fun of it and release them again
Good memories of childhood years till death with us does remain.
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His songs are still with me from decades ago
And many of them in my heart I do know
He played his accordion by his campfire at night
And he sang his old songs under the dim moonlight.
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