Francis Duggan Poems

The clock on us is ticking and it ticks and ticks away
And we are getting older with every passing day
And few live to be one hundred and many do die young
And millions die in poverty and millions die unsung.
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From the Artic shores to Warrnambool in Victoria thousands of miles of sky
And the little gray brown sanderling that long journey does fly
And back again via coastal Asia to breed in the Artic Spring
The mysteries of Nature are such a wondrous thing
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It is the law of Nature the strongest does survive
And on the flesh of their victims the predators do thrive
And her creatures like her Seasons to Nature come and go
And the more we learn of Nature the more our wonder of her grow
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On the night of his election i well can recall
He said he would represent us one and all
Even those who voted against him he would represent
But as usual he was lying as that was not his intent
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The river bank high through the old fields does flow
And the weather is cold quite cold enough to snow
And the ground in the morning with frost hoary gray
In Annagloor it is quite wintery today.
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Those who can be cruel to birds and animals to people can be cruel
The cruel streak that is in them to their brutality gives fuel
The evil bubbling in them is all out of control
They lack in the warmth of love with darkness of the soul
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In East Gippsland the fires are still going miles of woodland and farmland and bushland destroyed
The huge fire front it keeps on burning it's way through the brown Countryside,
Fires started by thunder and lightning and fires started by human kind
Amongst every rural community a firebug or two you will find
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In Point Smythe quite close to Venus Bay
From where i am now in distance far away
The kangaroos known as the eastern gray
In the paddocks graze in the gloaming of the day,
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Few go through life without making a foe
And you cannot like everyone you do know
Though your friend tomorrow can be your foe today
And such is life as some are known to say.
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Swollen by heavy rains that melt the mountain snow
Bank high by Millstreet Town the old Finnow flow
A river that will flow till the end of time
That has inspired poets to song and to rhyme,
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