Francis Duggan Poems

Hit Title Date Added
4061.
On Seeing Moorhens And Coots

Like dark corks amidst the windblown waves they keep bobbing up and down
The moorhens and their cousin coots in the big lake near the town
From water they never venture far they swim and dive for their acquatic prey
They are born to be water birds Nature made them this way
...

4062.
I Cannot Even Hope To Imagine

I cannot even hope to imagine the way that you do feel
Compared to some your problems may seem little but to you your problems are real
Life's journey is not always easy and life's not always fair
And many left to struggle with their black dog of despair.
...

4063.
I Live Far From My Native Land

I live far from my Native Land and Hibernia's windswept shore
And from my old home by the roadway from Millstreet to Rathmore
But in my flights of fancy I hear the silver tongued rill
Go babbling towards the river down the high fields by the hill
...

4064.
There Is Nothing Wrong With Dying

There is nothing wrong with dying in death there is equality
Of the judgements of the living the dead are forever free
All the dead greats of human history are deaf to words of praise
You are free to sing their praises but from their graves them that will not raise.
...

4065.
The Person Who Defames You

The person who defames you can never be your mate
But never think about revenge or surrender to hate
Just get on with your life on your side you have truth
And consider yourself lucky to have the gift of youth
...

4066.
Memories Of South West Gippsland

The Powlett river crawls it's way through the scrublands
And by the sandhills bordering the sea
Where the red wattlebirds call on the coastal banksias
And in the caravan park magpie lark sings pee wee
...

4067.
We Give Them Our Trust

We want to believe from them what we do hear
We give them our trust they repay us in fear
Their mistrust of others is a source of hate
A World of fear they have helped to create
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4068.
I Never Said To You I Was A Poet

I never said to you I was a poet
Or even one of minor literary note
And the stuff I pen I could not hope to sell
The literary purists call it doggerel
...

4069.
The Past I Revisit

I've penned heaps of stuff on that old mountain rill
That babbles through Claramore by Clara hill
And through old fields and by hedgerows it winds it's way down
Through Claraghatlea a mile west of Millstreet Town
...

4070.
Is Your Life So Boring

Is your life so boring that you must celebrate
The success of your hero a true sporting great
One who does not know you or you never may meet
And one with a big ego brought on by self conceit
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