Francis Duggan Poems

She ran her father's pub for many years in the Square in Millstreet Town
A quietly spoken person who never sought renown
Her name then Marion McCarthy and her i do recall
She now rests in peace forever death does come to us all.
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In some art competitions as well as literature judges their criterion define
But on their definition of subject matter they are drawing a narrow line
And though on the merit of every winner everyone does not agree
The one who holds the winners cheque can smile in victory
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It has inspired story and rhyme
Mt Rouse the hill as old as time
Kolor it's indigenous name
Given to it by those here when Europeans came.
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Get rid of passports and visas and let people travel free
To any Country they wish to go to by land or air or sea,
Get rid of every warlord and get rid of poverty
And get rid of class distinction and here's to equality,
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By a court of law judge you may not have been judged but you are judged by people every day
Big Brother's judges passing their judgements on you they never seem to fail to have their say
On you and your step on the social ladder they judge you by your influence in your money bank
And though money may be only made of paper it sure enough does give you social rank,
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When I'm with the departed few will remember me
Not then to me it will matter if i fade from the memory
Of anyone who knew me without me life will go on
You can be of little use to anyone when you are dead and gone
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Young Pete in his late twenties is quite serious
And if he smiled perhaps his face would crack
He owns his home outright without a mortgage
And money is a thing he does not lack.
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Perhaps I'd feel a stranger now in the Town of Millstreet
A stranger in Pound Hill or Minor Row
A stranger in the Tanyard or Murphy's Terrace
Not many in the old Town now I'd know.
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She was married to Donie Murphy and they lived in Millstreet's Town's West End
And on her journey through life she made many a friend
A good wife and good mother she never sought renown
And a credit to her Parish and her beloved Town.
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Last night in my dreams i did hear the winds roar
Above the old high fields of far Claramore
A cold Winter moon crept behind clouds to hide
And on the bleak hillside the hungry fox cried
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