Francis Duggan Poems

In your memories the home you were raised in does take pride of place
It is back to there your first memories in life you can trace
I have seen aging migrants very close to tears
For their first home in life they had not seen for years
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Those with a sense of honor in honor take pride
Behind a cloak of falseness such people never do hide
Their word is their bond and on keeping their word they insist
If everyone were like them written contracts would not exist
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On the tall eucalyptus trees in the fading twilight
Long bill corellas are squawking as they settle for the night
A large flock of them squawking together on the nerves can grate
But this is how corellas with each other communicate
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I heard a skylark singing as upwards he did fly
A feathered minstrel of the Summer in the sunny southern sky
A musical speck in the vast Universe in the cloud World he did sing
To listen to the lark's song is always quite a pleasant thing
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High above the southern coastline in the gray southern sky
The lure of home is in them as to their far northern breeding beaches they do fly
The turnstone are leaving the far southern shore
On their long journey home to breed of twenty thousand kilometers or more
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In life every day a new challenge for you to face
But you can make the World for to live in a far better place
By becoming a better person and be willing to help those of helping in need
In life you reap the good Karma when you sow the good seed
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For wrongs that i feel to me that they have done
I cannot bring myself for to hate anyone
For to forgive others myself i must forgive
I just wish to be one to live and let live
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The strains of Auld Lang Syne in the pub i do hear
In three hours from now we will be in a New Year
The year 2013 will soon be a memory
As the last few hours of December fades to January
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He played for Ballydaly and Duhallow and wore the Millstreet green
And in the red jersey of Cork he was often seen
Kippagh's Con O Connor was quite a man in his prime
Though that is going back some three decades in time
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In south west Victoria a rainy start to the new year
But the flute of the magpie so pleasant to hear
In Koroit Town on the streets few people to be seen
On a quiet enough start to the year twenty fourteen
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