Francis Duggan Poems

In Pirianda Garden the wild birds chirp and sing
And the rhododendrons are in bloom in the prime of the Spring
A well known arboretum that always looks so green
And trees from every continent in plenty to be seen
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If i will return to Kallista it will have to be in the Spring
When crimson rosella is piping and grey shrike thrush whistle and sing
And the sun through the spaces between the mountain ash finds it's way down to the tree fern trees
And even on cool days of September and October there is a warmth in the breeze
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With little interests in common then it does seem to me
That you and i on few things could hope for to agree
You say the poor have only themselves to blame for their own poverty
And our politics are different and we see things differently.
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You will not live forever but live for as long as you can
And that applies to every woman as well as to every man
You may not be worth much living but you are worth nothing dead
And it will not matter to you if kind or unkind things of you are said
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So beautiful and clever and gentle and wise
The woman with golden locks and chestnut brown eyes
And yet unaffected by guile or conceit
The nicest of those in their twenties who live in our street.
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The by road off of the highway it winds on up and down
Along the mountain valley that leads to Somewhere Town
A narrow and twisty roadway that test your driving skill
Up through the old brown valley and by the stony hill.
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I do not dislike them and i can honestly say
That apart from the views they hold they are okay
But tis our different opinions make us interesting some are known to say
And we all look at life in a different way,
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The high fields by the mountain are looking rather bare
And in the farm shed the cattle for fodder bellow in the frosty morning air
And the old stream from the mountain bank high to the river flow
And across the quiet old countryside the cold north east wind blow.
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Her shoulder length hair it is wavy and brown
The one known as the Rose of old Mortlake Town
And with a lovely smile and warmth in her hello
And dark blue eyes blue as the late Autumn sloe,
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In flights of fancy i can hear again
The bullfinch singing in the wind and rain
When hawthorns wear their white blossoms of the May
Far north of here and in miles far away,
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