Francis Duggan Poems

We are ruled by males with bulging egos who feel they are born to lead
Who trample upon others feelings in their great desire to succeed
They cannot be taken at their word the people so lacking in trust
Those who lust after power in a big way find it hard to be honourable and just.
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'Tis true enough that pride comes before a fall
And before we took our first step we learned how to crawl
And one day we must answer to the reaper's call
The one who makes equal the great and the small,
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I pity her 'twas her worst ever birthday
With so little money and big bills to pay
And the best years of her life sad to say for her gone
And only her will to live keeps her keeping on.
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In the high woods of South Belgrave from here far away
The bellbirds are singing in Birdsland today
Like many tiny bells their pleasant ringing sound
Echo in the woodland on the higher ground.
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He felt like a complete stranger in his Hometown
The main shopping centre he walked up and down
But none recognized him and none said good day
To them he was one from a town far away,
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Of financial successes one who cannot tell
The one who knows of life in an earthly hell
The house he lives in he cannot claim as his own
And many the trying times of late he has known.
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Young Rose of Duhallow with wavy brown hair
For physical beauty few with her compare
Her eyes as dark blue as the November sloe
On the wildering hedge where the Blackwater flow.
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Their name is a clue to their familiar song
The birds known to many as the pied currawong
In the wooded gully and on the higher ground
The echoes of their currawong notes resound,
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They planted trees on the old stony mountain
That is going back some twenty years ago
But twenty years on the hill is as bare as ever
Amongst the stones the trees refused to grow.
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Compared to some my worries are not heavy
Though my best clothing only op shop clothes
My only problem is a lack of money
And on trees and bushes money never grows.
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