Francis Duggan Poems

The mental pictures of the past she does retain
Memories of people of her young years with her remain
And old meadows where she often crowered the hay
When summer sun shone through the clouds of gray
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When leaf buds are on the birch tree and you hear the goldfinch sing
Though the weather may be damp and cool you know that it is Spring
For the seasonal signs of Nature one need not look hard to see
I cannot help but see them they are all around me
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For the fans of the Koroit Football Club their joy it was great
When their senior team won the Premiership how they did celebrate
In Mickey Bourke's and the Colonial Hotel they partied all night long
As they did celebrate in beer, music and song
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Wherever i go to my past goes with me
A Claraghatlea fellow is all i can be
I am from the place of the silver tongued rill
That babbles to the river down the field by the hill
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Though some for little reason become violent and shout
There are few things in life worth getting angry about
And some despite huge financial difficulties never seem to worry at all
The difference in temperaments between people is not in any way small
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The World will not stop when life's breath from me has gone
And life on the Planet will surely go on
The migratory birds will fly north for to breed in the Spring
And the skylark will fly to the clouds for to sing
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I have convinced myself i am not good enough
That my rhymes are too simple and slipshod and rough
We are what we think we are that's how 'twould seem to me
And with that assumption many may agree
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Wherever she is at joy is to be found
She carries it with her and spreads it around
In her early seventies and lovely to behold
She has not lost her beauty though she is growing old
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In Claraghatlea in the flesh never more to be seen
But fond memories of him will remain evergreen
Grieved by his many friends and family and Sheila his wife
Dan Connors has come to the end of his journey in life
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Far more than a literary fellow of note
Denis Florence MacCarthy he was a great poet
So many of his time to anonymity gone
But the poems of MacCarthy are read and living on
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