Francis Duggan Poems

Far north even as the crow fly from here far away
In leafy groves, woods and hedgerows nesting birds sing all day
And blackbird will sing his fanfare of the May
Before the sun rise in the dawn cool and gray,
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At the top of people's new year's wish list you won't find poverty
For money speaks every language as most would agree
A lack of money in people causes low self esteem
Money is the most important thing to most it does seem
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A perfect human being I doubt in the whole World you'd find
For perfection a word that cannot be used to describe the human kind
We all have our own failings the imperfections in others I can see
Though I never see the imperfections of the imperfect me,
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It will not matter then what others of me will say
That I worked hard or was lazy in every way
For the judgements of others the dead cannot hear
The one good thing about death it frees us of all fear
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It always happens after a few beers
That I must stifle back those maudlin tears
The maudlin tears I won't allow to flow
I'm not the man that some others think they know.
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As I walked out on a windy night along by the moonlit lane
Ribet ribet I heard them in the watery pond and drain
Tiny and shy amphibians Nature's forecasters of rain
Long after I have heard them their songs with me remain.
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The World's great Empires have gone to decay
They rose and they fell and each had their day
And one Super Power rise as another does fall
And the small will grow great and the great become small.
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It's the flaws we have that only make us human
And the flaws we have are never hard to see
And if you can only look for flaws in others
How cynical a person you must be.
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The reason for divorce you've guessed right marriage without marriage there would not be divorce
With birds and animals things are so much different they make love and leave Nature take it's course
They do not have acrimonious breakups when their relationships end they merely go their way
Though some species are known to be faithful and until one die together they do stay.
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Unrivalled as an English poet of Nature yet life for him it was far worse than hell
He lived for years and died in an asylum and the story of his life a tragic one to tell
He penned the poems destined to live forever and with the finest poets he can compare
And he will always be a Prince of Wordsmiths the peasant poet from Helpston poor John Clare.
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