Francis Duggan Poems

You may feel the whole World is against you but few things in life do seem fair
But hope for a better tomorrow of the future one should not despair
And may today it be your worst day the toughest times for you may have gone
Just like every other survivor you hang in there and keep on keeping on
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When the last human being from Planet Earth has gone
The Goddess of Nature will surely live on
Yes without us to bother her Nature will live
We take and take from her and in return little give
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Humanity would be worse off without music, dance and song
And to the music people always sing and dance along
With art these natural gifts are the foods of the soul
Without such there would be more wars and a far greater death toll
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From a tiny dark seedling a tree begins to grow
Into a huge tree with large branches in fifty years or so
It does not need help from Humankind Nature does best on her own
A tiny seed blown in the wind by Nature is self sown
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He is sixty his hair dyed brown and she is a natural blond of nineteen
And strolling hand in hand along the beach road every evening they are seen
His grandchildren as old as she is it is so true what they say
That money does speak every language and it has always been this way.
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He penned so many great songs in his great writing prime
'Paddy Reilly' and 'McBreens Heifer' songs that live on in time
Percy French of Cloonyquin in Roscommon was a poetic great
And the beauty he created does not have a use by date.
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In the Human World money speaks every language some say
And all things have a price on them 'twould seem that way
And though the reaper will one day claim the lives of you and I
It costs money to live and it costs money to die.
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The funeral birds known to some as whilst others do call them weerloo
But the name they are known to by many is the yellow tail black cockatoo
They live mostly on the dark seeds of the pine cones that they shred with their strong thick bills
Their familiar wee yu calls unmistakeable as they fly above the wooded hills
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Forget the past the past is forever gone
The dead at peace the living must live on
The rill downhill to the river ever flow
And the people like the Seasons come and go.
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I'll tell to you a story of one I vaguely know
An aged veteran of World war 2 some sixty years ago
A poor worn out old warrior the years have left him gray
In the early stages of forgetfulness his memory in decay.
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