Francis Duggan Poems

I do know Bill McKelvey he drinks in the Bayswater
An Irishman and a good man and he's got lovely daughters
He came to Melbourne years ago from Ireland and Tir Conaill
Land of the eagle of the north the great Red Hugh O Donnell.
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You came up through the earth so deep and dark
To listen to the sweet song of the lark
And like the lark's song buttercup you bring
The beauty we have grown to love in Spring.
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In thinking about her you waste precious hours
And you won't win her over by giving her flowers
Or whispering sweet nothings like sweetheart or honey
She'll never be your's for you don't have enough money.
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Much about him has been written of his life and acts of shame
And for all the worst of reasons his has become a World known name
He shot to death thirty five people maimed and injured many more
And in half an hour of brutal hatred he left grief and pain and gore.
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It's been seventy years if not more since Andy was school going boy
Since he played hide and seek with his mates in the old park of Fitzroy
But the years have flown so quickly his once brown hair silvery gray
And on looking back his young years seem like only yesterday.
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Like his brothers Jer and Peter he never had a wife
And if he still lives he has known a long life
He worked for the Singletons Jerry and Bill
Jack Murphy from Inchaleigh by Clara hill.
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It must have been the effects of the beer
For he told me something I ought not to hear
Something that few men wish to brag about
But he was drunk and he let it slip out.
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He talks about his days of wine and roses
When he was the man young women wished to know
And of the many women he made love to
When he was twenty two decades ago.
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The leaves from the trees are beginning to fall
And the caterpillar seeks a crack in the wall
The month of October is slipping away
And Winter comes closer with each passing day.
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For the Gold Coast the weather is Unspring like
It has been raining for most of the day
Still lorikeets chirp on the bottlebrushes
Of Mermaid Waters overcast and gray.
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