Francis Duggan Poems

The weather warming up a bit it's getting warm today
And people for the weekend will be heading for the bay
To do a bit of fishing and relax by the sea
To surf or go skin diving or have a sea side tea.
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The more I learn about Nature the less I realize I know
About how creatures live in wild state, about how plants and grasses grow
About how flowers close in the evening and open to the morning light
We learn every day from Nature and we learn from what others write.
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I am not a poet I never said I was I just pen doggerel
The sort of stuff that few bother to read and I cannot hope to sell
I've been rhyming for many years and though my better days long gone
Until the Reaper claims the life from me I will keep penning on
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No such a thing as God's chosen people if there is a God he's for all
For a God than us would be far greater in our judgements we are so small
God would judge everyone as an equal no matter the Race or the name
The believers or the non believers a true God would treat as the same.
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He is a poetry expert at least he feels that way
And on what others write which is their business he likes to have his say
The chance to offend people he choose to dislike but does not know he never fails to miss
Just one more arrogant ignoramus to him ignorance is bliss
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Old enough to hold a car and truck licence and old enough to vote
And old enough to have a gun licence and operate a small fishing boat
And old enough to recognize an apple from a quince
Yet not old enough to be blessed with much sense
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For to celebrate war there's always one more parade
And out of war warriors heroes are made
Only the good die young some are known to say
But I know good people who are old and gray.
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The more that I learn about Nature the less of her I know that I know
And the more that I learn of Nature the more my wonder of her does grow
One can only live in awe of her wonders she does seem amazing to me
Scarce a day goes by that in Nature a new wonder one does not see
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From Murray Bridge to the suburbs the road winds up and down
And the rolling hills of Adelaide have never looked so brown
A humid evening in autumn around 23 degrees
The sun is clouded over and scarce a puff of breeze.
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We've not seen much sunshine since tenth day of May
And it has been the worst Summer for making hay
But God is much kinder the old fellow say
And we'll all meet in Cullen on Latiarian day.
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