Francis Duggan Poems

Everyone is good at doing something as we have been told
But people lose some of their talent as they do grow old
The legs that moved fast when young many years ago
Now feeling tired and heavy time has become their foe
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Have you ever for a moment asked yourself what life's about
And of your true worth as a person never cast a fleeting doubt
In saying that you are not one of the majority i am not saying anything that is new
These so called super confident people to say the least are few
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So little of her ways i can claim to know
But my wonder of her only does seem to grow
Mother Nature the one who provides for all
Of us humans including all other life forms from the great to the small
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The sun feels pleasantly warm on this nice October day
And the magpies are warbling in the park by the bay
And the golden bill blackbird on a wattle does sing
For to proclaim his borders in the prime of the Spring
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The nesting birds singing on the bushes and trees
And the sound of the bells of St Davids floating in the breeze
Above the potato fields from here far away
When the hawthorns are in their white blooms of the May
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Does it matter if i am a rhymer and i do not write well
Or if the literary opinionated dismiss me as one who pen doggerel
I do enjoy penning rhymes in case you may not have known
And what i do for a hobby is my business and my business is my own
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Tyson Fury the big young British heavyweight boxer what is he on about
When he says he could knock World Champion Wladimir Klitschko out
He may be tall and powerful but one has to doubt
If he does have the ability for to match his big mouth
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So sad it is to learn of the news that Matty O' Connor from life has passed away
In Millstreet Town in view of Clara Hill where he first saw light of day
He lived as a decent human being and in him nothing bad
Which makes his passing for all who knew him to learn of very sad
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Life can be a battle even for the brave and the bold
And does not become any easier as one grows old
In the Human World the minority are of the chosen few
Though to this you may say tell us what is new
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In the damp fields where the rushes in clusters do grow
Old River Finnow it ever does flow
On towards the Blackwater it babbles on it's way
With a tongue never silent by night or by day
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