Francis Duggan Poems

The Clara i used to love so well it never more will look the same
The E S B putting cables suspended on poles upon it that does seem a terrible shame
I used to climb to the wooden cross and later the steel on it's summit going back a few decades ago
Men under the disguise of progress changing the look of a landscape that i used to know.
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Originally from South Africa and quite pretty indeed
Those flowers in Spring that cover the paddocks they are known as capeweed
With bright yellow petals and a dark brown heart
From all others quite easy to tell them apart.
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Life must be lonely for a mere infidel
One who does not believe in a heaven or a hell
On a god or a satan he does not believe
Yet he laugh and he smile and for lost love he grieve.
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Vincent Van Gogh was surely a genius but he died in dire poverty
His sad life was so full of sadness and few as unhappy as he
He died at his own hands in madness doesn't life seem so very unfair
The one who had lived as a pauper his art has made many a new millionaire,
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The scorn and anger of others i find hard to take their verbal blows i cannot parry
And words of little use to me in my defence since my words weight do not carry
But of bullies i know little fear in their hearts they are yellow
The bull that you should fear the most doesn't have the loudest bellow
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You save your own soul mister for you cannot save mine
But if you wish to pray for me well that would suit me fine
For that would be your business if for me you wish to pray
Though on me 'tis the reaper who will have the final say.
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There scarcely is a puff of wind and in the pale moonlight
Out there in the quiet paddock the red fox barks tonight
Perhaps she is feeling hungry with fast growing cubs to feed
A scavenger and a hunter and a hunted life she lead,
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For each of us a last day whether it be soon or late
For each of us it does seem will share a similar fate
Like all other living creatures one day we have to die
With chemistry we may fight ageing but to the reaper we cannot lie,
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To lie to them so easy the morally destitute
The easily corruptible who dance around the truth
They start to believe their own lies right into their old age
They can lie without blinking beyond their dotage stage.
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For everyone against you there is one on your side
And you always hold your head high for you too have your pride
You find life a great battle 'tis uphill all of the way
But all things come to those who wait a wise one once did say,
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