Francis Duggan Poems

'Tis true enough that pride comes before a fall
And before we took our first step we learned how to crawl
And one day we must answer to the reaper's call
The one who makes equal the great and the small,
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Good on you Eily Buckley back there near Millstreet Town
You keep on promoting Millstreet without one thought of your own renown
You keep on promoting Millstreet in prose as well as rhyme
In the annals of Duhallow you will live on in time.
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In my flights of fancy I often do see
The Village in Sliabh Luachra and Duhallow known as Knocknagree
A famous old Village on the higher ground
With views of the mountains for long miles around.
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Each time I hear a magpie sing in the dead of the night
I feel a gush of happiness my heart beats with delight
It may be the depths of Winter but when at night the magpie's song i hear
I think of balmy days ahead and i know that Spring is near.
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Those legs that once could run so fast feel heavy now and slow
He sure is not the man he was some forty years ago
He played football with his young mates he drank till pub closing time
But that was many years ago when he was in his prime,
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Worrying never solves any problems it only makes you feel quite ill
And worrying will not raise the money you need for to pay your next bill
You may as well laugh as be tearful for laughter on one eases the mental strain
You laugh and the whole World laughs with you the truth in that with us remain,
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When i was a Schoolboy Father Joe Murphy was a young man
I recall him and his Brothers Doney and the late Johnny Dan
And though of my existence he hardly would know
One cannot help but remember the great Father Joe.
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The sort of society we live in ourselves we create
The games that we play that can lead us to hate
For those who are different to us in some way
To the one god are we all obliged to pray,
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I am not saying they are misguided i am not saying that they lie
Those who are convinced the soul lives on that the body only die,
I respect their opinions but with them i don't agree
Since i am one of those blokes who doubt what they can't see.
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He has writers block at the present he cannot write poetry or prose
And he feels a bit sad about that but such is life one must suppose
But inspiration to him it will come one might say on it's own good time
Though not as inspired as he once was since he is past his writing prime.
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