Francis Duggan Poems

For as long as the gift of memory i will retain
In fancy the beauty i have known i will re-visit again
Of the beautiful places i have been lucky to see
The mental pictures i do carry with me
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The Poet Laureate of Millstreet and Duhallow going back decades in time
When i was in primary school he was in his poetic prime
Around the fire grate on winter evenings John Twomey's poems recited and sung
By the elders of my boyhood years in the days when i was young
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The writer who became famous everywhere
Jack London he wrote of the big World out there
His Call Of The Wild as a classic remain
A story one could read again and again
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In Millstreet when i was a youngster to be good at Gaelic Football
Was seen as important as i now do recall
It was a close up third behind money and god
The values of many people to me does seem quite odd
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Time's clock on our lives ever ticking and ticking and ticking away
And every day takes us one nearer to our very last night and day
Religious people live in hope of salvation after drawing their last breath
But none ever came back to tell us that they've outlived their Earthly death
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Such sad tidings from Duhallow the news of the passing of Mister O
A legendary character of Millstreet long ago
Where he was born and raised and with his wife raised their children in the Town by Clara Hill
Sad to think the heart that beat with kindness has been forever rendered still
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It was an ancient land mass long before the first people to it came
This is a grand old Country Australia by name
Old in the age of the dinosaurs and old in the Dreamtime
This land of rugged beauty that has inspired bards to rhyme
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Some people when they talk of life choices they tend to dismiss destiny
As if success to one should not be an obstacle though born into abject poverty
Such people lack in understanding of people and lack in compassion and empathy
They may fancy themselves as great thinkers but this is not how they appear to me
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A long way south of the fields in view of Clara
And Gortavehy and it's face of stone
And a long way south of rugged Caherbarnagh
And Anu's Breasts known as The Paps of Shrone
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No two are exactly similar in every way
Our different ways make us more interesting it would seem fair to say
If we all were the same how boring we would be
Variety is the spice of life would you not agree
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