Francis Duggan Poems

August in the Moyne Shire in the wind and the rain
The tiny frogs singing in every pond and drain
Late Winter and early Spring their breeding time of year
And they sing to tell of rain and when rain is near
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Charles Kingsley was a famous writer and poet
One the literary critics did laud one as one worthy of note
But one the Human World of was notofin need
Since he was one who was quite racist indeed
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The length of the longest lived human life in real time not a long span
So live for as long as you possibly can
Few live for a hundred years a century of time
Some even die as children and some die in their physical prime
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For our sins against others the price we will pay
If not to the law then to Karma one day
What goes around comes around so true for to say
But they have nothing to fear those who live in the honest way
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Jack Broe hoped his marriage vows with Kate his wife
Would be a love contract that would last for life
But his love of her than her love of him far more strong
And sadly for him thought had proved him wrong
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In some of the known prosperous Countries in the World millions in extreme poverty
And many poor people in prison for minor offenses how wrong this seems to be
People who are punished for being poor is how it seems to me
Of racism and inequality the Human World may never be free
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Since business is brisk in the local pub tonight
The publican on his face has the smile of delight
The footy fans drinking and happy with the cub's big win in football
And the publican too very happy though sport does not interest him at all
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I thank Mother Nature for this lovely day
The silver billed magpie in feathers of dark and gray
Is piping his tune so melodious and clear
He can be heard sing every day of the year
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What matter if I do condemn or condone
I have my opinions and they are my own
I may not agree with some things that you say
But respect to your freedom of speech I do pay.
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With each passing day my life's last day is near
But 'tis only the fear of death that I do fear
For death claims the lives of the great and the small
And to the scythe of the reaper we are destined to fall
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