Francis Duggan Poems

There are gifted artists and musicians and gifted writers as well
And gifted and talented singers whose records by the millions sell
And it takes one to be gifted at making money for to become a billionaire
Though some will tell you that people today as ever are rare
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Men die for flag and Country and because of religious and racial and cultural differences wish on each other ill
And because of love and money and territorial disputes are willing for to kill,
Women too commit murders but compared to males it is known female murderers are few
These are old statistics relevant to today and in this there is nothing new
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The landscape the same each time i drive this way
The hills between Coleraine and Casterton looking brown and dry today
A country too high and too dry to plough for roots crops or grain
That could do with a long spell of life giving rain
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From Penola to Narracoorte in South Australia off of the highway on either side
Thousands of acres of vines far as the eyes see stretching for miles far and wide
Wine from grapes in South Australia enjoyed by wine lovers everywhere
Penola and Narracoorte well known places in the bigger World out there
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A beautiful morning by the ocean shore
In sunny South Australia in old Semaphore
Under the watchful eyes of their parents from them ten meters away
In the shallow waters by the jetty young children do play
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The old clock of time becomes everyone's foe
He left Carriglea many Seasons ago
For to live in New York in the U S of A
Though in Florida he lived his last night and day
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Of his Hometown of Halifax in Nova Scotia he has good stories to tell
But in his guest house in Semaphore he is doing financially well
Today in Nova Scotia the weather temperature below minus fifteen degrees
And in Semaphore a high of thirty six of only a slight breeze
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The literary critics may dismiss their work as of another time
But the rhymers rhyme on they are born to rhyme
And they will go on rhyming till their last night and day
The rhymers could never give rhyming away
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The cattle in the farmyard sheds bellowing for silage or hay
It is cold and wet in Duhallow on this February day
Swollen by heavy rain and showers of sleet and the melting of snow
The Blackwater bank high in the old fields with a loud babble does flow
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It has been many years since i first saw light of day
And though the lust of the wander has carried me far away
From the old fields i loved where the rushes do grow
Yet so little of life's ways i can claim to know
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