Francis Duggan Poems

It never will be out of date or never out of fashion
In most humans there is the need for this thing known as passion
His passion is for tin whistling it does mean so much to him
For the effort he puts in to it none i know of none to outdo him
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The past has gone the future is ahead though today is all that does matter
And most in time do show their age and grow a little fatter
We learn as we live it is said though this may be worth debating
For some learn little if anything at all a fact that is worth stating
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It does seem for Gina luck is not on her side
Her hens are not laying and her rooster has died
And sadder for Gina her far younger ex partner the virile young Ted
Is with one sexier and younger than she is now sharing a bed
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Since you do not like others to laugh at you
Laugh with but not at is what you should do
Having your laughs at someone else's expense
Is not adult behavior or common sense
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He will never more wear the shamrock on St Patrick's Day
Or sing songs of his old homeland from here far away
Far south of his first hometown his last remains lay
Irish John was one who laughed at life of him one can say
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Though i had known of better days i did have dreams to follow
It was my yearn for adventure that lured me from Duhallow
To this great southern Country of many different races
Of different Countries of the World and many different places
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Her mum and dad behind prison bars one of the city's down-trod
She walks the street in shabby clothes child of the lesser god
A child prostitute at thirteen years her only means to stay alive
Some of her sort to adulthood are not known to survive
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It stirs the cockles of the heart and echoes in the ceiling
The sound of laughter in the room is such a joyful feeling
It surely beats discussing politics and the hereafter
It is a source of happiness this marvelous gift of laughter
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It has been some three decades of years since i last saw Duhallow
I thought i might return in Spring like the migratory barn swallow
But many Springs have come and gone since i last heard the male pheasants crowing
In rushy fields far north of here where bright waters in waterways are flowing
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For all of us life's journey end in a dark hole in the ground
Or your last remains cremated and your ashes spread upon your favorite ground
Whatever you achieve in life for you there is an end
Those known to be great are mere mortals why otherwise pretend
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