Francis Duggan Poems

May Day is the day when workers of all Nations their marvellous heritage celebrate
The men and women who through their honest endeavours have played their part in the building of their State
Many of them work hard for low wages and for them never an easy pay
Unfurl the red flag of the workers why not celebrate them today.
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I'm tired of ageing Politicians talking of war
Young soldiers risk their lives for them in Countries afar
And yet they seem to get re-elected when the voters have their say
They play their patriotic card and for them that does pay.
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The one who did not fight for his Country he is in his late eighties today
Quite healthy and lucid for his age though the years have left him looking gray
Most of those he went to school with became soldiers and many of them in war died
And he who never wore a soldier's uniform is living though time it is not on his side.
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Hares unlike their cousins the rabbits do not live in a hole in the ground
They depend on their speed and elusiveness for survival and their hiding places hard to be found
They rest in the long grass during daylight hours and at nightfall from hiding venture out
For to feed on the short and sweeter grass and under cloak of darkness wander about
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The evil I see in others in my own self I see
And the so called evil people are no less evil than me
'Tis not my place to judge others leave the Law take it's course
Than us mere living mortals there is some far greater force.
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Though she's Australian by birth she says what's birth right anyway
I'm a citizen of Planet Earth that's what Miranda say
'Tis power hungry men that gave us passports and our right to freely travel us denied
You may call this your Country but you don't own the Countryside.
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The young bloke full of ego the old bloke full of thought
The young bloke talks of glory and battles to be fought,
The old bloke gray from living he has been there and done that
His grandchildren are teenagers and he's growing old and fat.
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She walks hand in hand with Joseph but she only has eyes for Fred
The one who has fallen in love is the one who is easily led
She deliberately takes Joseph past the house where Fred lives in hope that by him they'll be seen
She is playing games with the poor silly fellow to the hard facts of life he is green.
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A fan of the late Ned Buckley the poet of Knocknagree
The last bard of Sliabh Luachra and few as great as he
Her name is Brid Ui Mhaoluala that is Irish to the core
Her husband from East Kerry from the old Town of Rathmore.
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One does quickly tire of people who think their ideas cannot be wrong
Those who think to the infallibles that they do or should belong
The huge weight of their ego too heavy for their soul
Of every situation they must be in control.
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