Francis Duggan Poems

'Tis written of the man who murdered Lincoln that he was not right in the head
But of anyone who commits such a crime the same thing can be said
But in truth he only was fulfilling his life's destiny
And none of us are perfect or so 'twould seem to me.
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All the seats had been taken save the one next to me
And blond haired young woman sat on it she glanced my way briefly
And by that one sharp glance from her between the lines I read
That conversation would be nil a silent ride ahead.
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Suppose we all do look at things differently
The hero to you not a hero to me
Your hero renowned for his skills at football
Yet the hero to some not a hero to all
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Where he lives none does help you when you are down
The one out of work in the poor side of town
A young man in his early twenties with life struggling to cope
Though of finding employment he is not without hope.
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Have you ever wondered what life's all about
And your worth as a person do you often doubt?
Believe me on that you are not on your own
Self doubt is a thing that so many have known.
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You can fight for your Country it does seem to me
By fighting for the right to life of every tree
And every bush and shrub and every hedgerow
To your Country this much is what you do owe.
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The spring in gown of green came at midnight
And stole along the parkland in moonlight
And people of suburbia fast asleep
When Spring from tree to garden tree did creep.
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We fear death but the true facts of the matter it is only the fear of death that we fear
And the feared grim reaper always very busy he takes people every day of the year
He takes the old, the middle aged and the young and he takes men and women in their prime
And he claims the billionaire and the poor pauper and he can come at an unexpected time.
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With the wonders of Nature nothing to compare
And the Goddess of Nature she lives everywhere
And the secrets of Nature not for humans to know
At the magic of Nature our wonder does grow.
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If I should go tomorrow into the great unknown
Do not mark the spot where I might lie with a memorial stone
For any sort of recognition will be worthless to me then
For the dead are just a memory even to their kith and kin.
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