Francis Duggan Poems

Some of the so called highest of achievers they so disappoint me
They use their position of influence to oppress humanity,
They desecrate Mother Nature and pollute her lands and seas
And render people homeless and create refugees.
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Pee wee pee wee as I lay beside the lake
Pee wee pee wee that voice one can't mistake
That song he sing all day from dawn till dark
Australia's most familiar magpie lark.
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I once walked down through Glenrowan that delightful countryside
Where Ned Kelly was taken captive and his brother Dan, Steve Hart and Joe Byrne died
Ten miles south of Wangaratta and eighty north of Melbourne Town
Glenrowan last stand of the Kelly gang a place of beauty and renown.
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The second oldest living world boxing champion behind Max Schmeling he will soon be ninety eight
Jimmy McLarnin the pint sized Irish man he was an all time great
He fought all of the great welterweights of his era Barney Ross and Billy Petrolle
Lou Ambers, Tony Canzoneri, Fidel La Barbra and Sammy Mandell.
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I left that town by Clara hill one cold December day
And Clara with the bracken face wore Winter cap of grey
I travelled to a distant Land thousands of miles away
But I vowed that I would return to greet the flowers of May.
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Not much to report from Wonthaggi no drive by shooting there last night
Though one young bloke on the street by the pub door was shouting and looking for fight
Perhaps he had one drink too many the cops came and took him away
Not much to report from Wonthaggi one might say another quiet day.
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'Tis said that his parents disowned him and he was a delinquent boy
And because of that many did suffer and because of that many did die
He will spend his life locked in a small cell where he cannot look up at the sky
But that of little use to his victims though many ask the question why?
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On the ground by the camellia tree her flower petals in decay
And birds whistling and chirping on this sunny Spring day
The flowers that bloom in Winter die quickly in the Spring
Even before most young birds have taken to wing.
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A walk in the garden of Nature and for it such a beautiful day
And the white backed magpie is fluting on a high branch of an old mountain gray
The scrub wrens in the undergrowth chirping their nest must be somewhere nearby
On this warm morning in September with the sun shining in the clear sky.
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I do not know what it feels like to be wealthy though I've never known poverty
And I feel I am a lucky fellow as lack of food will never kill me
And I've never been a displaced person and left to live with the bad memory
Of camp life on the fringe of the desert the lot of the poor refugee.
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