Francis Duggan Poems

So many years since nineteen thirty three
When I came here from Northern Italy
The language of Australia I could not speak
And many people thought I was a Greek.
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I am aware that they are well intentioned
All those who speak of an egalitarian society
And i can only commend them for hoping
For something that is just not meant to be.
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Patriotic men and women from sixty down to sixteen
Rode proudly on their horses in the famed Anzac green
Followed by the women of the Red Cross in their renowned white and red
On this day every April they honour the war dead.
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Back home in Nova Scotia now the eastern bluebird sing
And wildering flowers are in full bloom in latter days of Spring
And green woods scenting sweetly with the buds and blooms of May
And I feel very near to home though I live far away.
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There was a man named Aoghan O Rathaille
And he lived by the immortal Paps of Shrone
The first great Gaelic Bard of Sliabh Luachra
And in Gaelic speaking Ireland his stature has grown.
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The woman in God's waiting room her hair is silver gray
And she is over ninety and has known a better day
The mynas in the back garden they sing their Winter song
Her days are quiet and lonely and her nights are dark and long.
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Each morning as I sit and have my tea
My female possum comes to visit me
She crawls along the wall plate o'er the door
Up through small hole to her nest on ceiling floor.
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In Sherbrooke woods from time to time i've seen
Birds with bluish tails and wings of leaf like green
And males with scarlet undersides and head
And females with more green on them than red.
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The wattlebirds kept busy all the day
From flowering gum trees chasing them away
But wattlebirds though big are not so fleet
And they can't catch purple crowned lorikeet.
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O'er gum and tree fern shades of darkness creep
And birds head under wings doze off to sleep
And save for laughing kookaburra's goodnight call
A serene silence does reign over all.
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