Francis Duggan Poems

You wrote how Dublin made you now that seems fair enough
But when you put down rural Ireland I find that a bit rough
And there's nothing special about Dublin it is just another Town
And when you put down rural Ireland you've put all of Ireland down.
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In the lounge bar of Wonthaggi's Whalebone Hotel
The story of his life to me he told
A gray haired man and one who had worked hard
And hard work even make young man look old.
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The leaves on liquid ambar tree have turned a russet yellow
And balding oak stand in the rain like aged hoary fellow
And May stole through the silent wood and no one heard her coming
She came at dark in russet cloak when the frogmouth was humming.
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I know Matt Duggan but I never knew Chris his son
And a friendship missed is a friendship never won
And how can I grieve for one I never knew
Though I feel for Matt for what he must go through.
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Long before she wrote for the Clara News
And years before I even knew the taste of booze
For her love of people she became well known
And the fame of Eily Buckley has since grown.
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In those old hills the black tribes lived and hunted in those brown hills thousands of years ago
And those old hills had many trees growing on them and some of those trees to great heights did grow
'Til white men came and with their saws and crosscuts they cut down the trees leaving the hills looking bare
And any damage done to Mother Nature as we ought know is so hard to repair.
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I knew a Priest a devout man and he seemed free of taint
And those who thought they knew him well said he was a living saint
A charming and a religious man unstained by vile deceit
And as near to perfect human being as one could wish to meet.
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I've been in New York and I've been to New Jersey
And I've been to London and Trafalgar Square
And I've seen some of Wales and my own Homeland Ireland
But I have never been to County Clare.
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I last met Pat Evans in Wonthaggi at the Miner's Rest Hotel
At 9 P.M. on Easter Saturday my short term memory serves me well
I felt happy for to meet him as I'd not seen him for six years
And we talked about the good times as we sunk a couple of beers.
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A hot day in the city and scarce a puff of breeze
Oh to be out in the country in the cool shade of the trees
In the shadow of the wattles leafing through a favourite book
Listening to the coot and black duck calling in the quiet brook.
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