Francis Duggan Poems

The good mother does not raise her child to plunder and to kill
But to live as a good person live and never do others ill
And that her daughter and son be successful is every mother's dream
But not everything in life does go to plan at least that's how it does seem
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If there's a God that God in her does live
So much of herself to others she does give
She is always helping those of help in need
Far more than good a great person indeed
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Should it really matter what you think of me
I am an Irish person that is all I can be
Born and raised in Claraghatlea a mile from Millstreet Town
That remains as my only claim to renown.
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For to live a good life he does the best he can
The down to earth hard working honourable man
To support his wife and children he works hard for his pay
And for him at work there is never an easy day,
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Many look on what constitutes freedom one might say differently
What seems free to you may not seem free to me
To be ruled by your own people to you as freedom does count
But in the true meaning of freedom that to little amount.
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Of the reaper's scythe he does not feel aware
The old dressage horse in the paddock over there
His kind owner calls to see him every day
To make sure his water trough is full and feed him oats and hay.
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Horatius was a sixth century Roman hero glorified in Macaulay's Lays Of Ancient Rome
Horatius on the bridge who could forget it and it lives on as a classic English poem
He held the bridge against Lars Porsena's Etruscan army and gallantly with the bridge he went down
And his courage gave birth to an immortal legend he beat the odds and saved his old Hometown.
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Each time I see a ladybird I recall Clock A Clay
A poem in a school book years ago and far away
Written about the spotted beetle by the great poet John Clare
A gem amongst Nature poetry that to the best compare.
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The blackbird's song it takes me far away
To northern Land and to a distant day
His kin birds sang all day until sundown
In leafy groves just out of Millstreet Town.
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Her tribe far from here north as the crow flies
The little black girl with the chestnut brown eyes
Her shoulder length hair dark as feather of crow
And there is great warmth in her cheery hello.
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