Francis Duggan Poems

As Australia's greatest singer his legend has grown
The wonderful Geoffrey Gurrumul in a class of his own
A voice for all ages that to him only belong
The man who was born with the gift of song
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In Caherbarnagh bog from here far away
I shlauned the damp peat in a long bygone day
When i was a younger man and in my life's prime
And this is going back near four decades in time
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Recite me a rhyme of the babbling rill
That splashes and dashes down the field by the hill
At the start of it's journey to the river far away
It flows on forever by night and by day
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In the groves of Claraghatlea from here far away
The nesting songbirds are singing today
And in the shade of the hawthorns cloaked in their white blooms of the May
The cattle on lush grass at ease chewing their cuds lay
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The past may well be in the forever gone
But the memories of what was in us does live on
Of the good and the tough times that for us used to be
Though our journeys in life different for everyone and that includes me
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He is not what one would call a nostalgic sort of a man
Though he lives far south of where his life's journey began
And he has been to great Cities Moscow, Paris and Rome
And New York, Sydney and Melbourne thousands of kilometers from his first home
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He visualize the football crowds chanting his name
The young bloke next door daydreams of sporting fame
One day he hopes to be a man amongst men
The young bloke next door he is only ten
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Children in their innocence do not know better
In long gone years some pre teenagers thought a french letter
Was a love letter from France their parents did deceive them
And their children in their innocence without question did believe them
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The contented cattle lay chewing their cuds in the lush green fields of Duhallow
And home for to breed the dark winged barn swallow
Across the gray sky at great speed they are racing
They chirp whilst flying insects their prey they are chasing
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So much rhyming stuff down the years i have written
By the bug of rhyme i must have been bitten
In nineteen seventy three at twenty seven i became a rhymer
And at sixty six to many i am seen as an old timer
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