Francis Duggan Poems

You say you are proud of your Country of you what does this say
That you are Nationalistic it does seem this way
And from Nationalism wars often begin
Where even the winners never seem to win.
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Like a beautiful pink camellia that's how you appear to me
That bloom in chilly August on it's dark green mother tree
So bright and fresh and pretty in the wintery wind and rain
That's how you've always looked to me and that's how you will remain.
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Some of the criminally inclined do seem friendly and warm
And when the need arises they can turn on the charm
Without resorting to violence their lives savings from people they steal
In their fraudulent scams that appear to be real
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What's life about one has to wonder
In the sands of time the largest footprint seems small
The Reaper of lives will not differentiate
Between me and the cricket in the crack in the wall
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Birds I see often though not every day
Galahs the cockatoos in feathers of pink and gray
Their calling in flight is quite pleasant to hear
And though not very shy of human beings they are cautious and hold a healthy fear
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Those who abuse their power over others in their lust for renown
Are those who are letting humanity down
They come in all shades of colors black, white and brown
And are to be found in every village and city and town
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You have heard many similar stories before
His girlfriend is twenty he is seventy four
Together hand in hand they walk up and down
The concrete pathway in the park of the town
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Near the sea in South Australia the Murray River flows brown
Through the old and dry countryside by Tailem Bend Town
A river that has flowed for centuries before the dinosaur time
And has been the inspiration of story and rhyme
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It is said about writers that they are born not made
Though some from the memory are quite quick to fade
And some to their disappointment never make the grade
Yet every writer is needed in the wordsmith trade
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In memory i never left west of Millstreet
And the green rushy fields where the waterways meet
And in fancy i often does hear the birds sing
In a leafy grove in the prime of the Spring
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