Francis Duggan Poems

He was the quiet achiever in his own quiet way
And quite generous and witty his friends of him do say
A good father to his son Michael and his daughter Ellen and a devoted husband to Lee his good wife
And he was one who made many friends on his journey through life.
...

The first day of December so breezy and so bright
And butterflies are flitting in the beautiful sunlight
And the sweet song of the blackbird is floating in the breeze
And clusters of white blossoms on the maleluca trees,
...

Tis only by your local fame you will ever know renown
For that's how life it seems to be in the one pub Country Town
And if you are a stranger there a stranger you'll remain
For friendships in such places are always hard to gain
...

We hear so much of terminal illnesses of people dying in their prime
But the longest life is not that long we all become victims of time
And whether you live to be one hundred or die at twenty five
The thing that keeps us living is our desire to survive
...

Money does speak all languages or so 'twould seem that way
A lot of once wealthy people in eternal rest now lay
They left their millions behind them that's life as some might say
The reaper makes all equal and respect to none he does pay
...

If the king were born a girl the king would be a queen
And if there was sufficent rainfall the brown hill would look green
But 'if' it is an obsacle that always gets in the way
And if is quite a common word an excuse word one might say.
...

In her early twenties in her prime when her hair was chestnut brown
She was one of the finest in South Gippsland and the Rose of Yarram Town
But now with a light brown hair dye she cloaks her natural gray
And with heavy makeup she conceals her wrinkles of decay.
...

December by the mountains the mountains far away
And the old fields by the high wood in the morning looking gray
It has been freezing overnight a cold chill is in the breeze
And the hungry rooks are calling on the leafless old beech trees.
...

To be addicted to rhyming is her only crime
The one who is known as the lady of rhyme
Her poems of great beauty a thing of delight
The lives of people and Nature inspire her to write
...

The skylark the small brown feathered minstrel is carolling in the sky
His image decreases to a speck as upwards he does fly
And the wattlebirds are calling on a flowering banksia tree
Where the ancient Powlett river crawls onwards to the sea
...