Francis Duggan Poems

The poets and the artists the wooded hills inspire
The hills of the Yarra Ranges of the old Sherbrooke Shire
In my wild flights of fancy I hear the lyrebird sing
In the damp depths of Winter long before the first of Spring
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She is married to a much older fellow a three score and ten years old man
He is forty five years her senior in time that is a lengthy span
'Tis not for love that him she married though in marrying him she has brought him happiness
He is a very wealthy sugar daddy money never does fail to impress
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A rhymer may be just that a rhymer but a rhymer never runs out of rhyme
But sadly most people look on rhymers as people who do waste their time
In putting their verses together if for such they do receive any pay
They see money as most important your money speaks for you they say
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Old Joe the poet long dead but not forgotten he was a character in every way
In his time feted as a local hero his songs are still sung in the town today
The life and soul of every local party local success in song he did celebrate
Not known Worldwide but locally quite famous in name he lives on as a local great
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I know it is hard to be happy when you are in financial strife
And you finding it a great battle as you struggle up the hill of life
Where so many do seem in trouble and about themselves they have to care
You are not the only one who has to struggle in a World where compassion is rare
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In the wooded hills of South Gippsland a place that lives up to it's name
Mt beauty alone for it's beauty is surely entitled to fame
Where the beautiful song of the shrike thrush it floats in the cool mountain breeze
And the nectar eating honeyeaters, lories and rosellas are chirping on the blossoming trees.
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We have been learning from life from the day we've learned to crawl
And our gift of life 'twould seem to me is our greatest gift of all
And those who believe they know it all to themselves only lie
For we will be learning from life until the day we die
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The great Goddess of Nature her praises we should sing
In her woodlands, parks and gardens her wild birds chirp and sing
The colours of her Seasons the beauty of her flowers
That bloom in all of their beauty after the Summer showers
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It has been awhile now a few decades ago
Since I've been to the place where the Araglen flow
Into the Blackwater but the memories remain
When in fancy I visit Duhallow again
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Your challenge is for to be a better person
And to your higher self at least try to be true
Perhaps we do sow the seeds that becomes our karma
And what we receive from life may be our due.
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