Francis Duggan Poems

A war about God and a war about Land
The tragic loss of lives I do not understand
A just war in truth is a damnable lie
For in modern day conflicts many civilians do die
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The peals of the funeral bell echo to the calm sky
For someone today 'tis a final goodbye
And on some future date whenever that be
A similar bell will be ringing for me.
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Why worry of death and of dying when you will be forever dead
The present is all that does matter who knows for us what lay ahead
We will die that we know for certain and we only can live in the now
The father of time is our master and to the father of time we must bow
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Can one see hope for the future of humanity when the foes of Nature in business and commerce succeed
When our Earth Mother is being raped for her resources by those known for their financial greed
In South America's Amazon Rainforest thousands of acres of trees are cut down every day
The uncalled for destruction of the natural environment for agriculture for to make way
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The cootamundra wattle the commonest of trees
They sucker all around the place and multiply like bees
In scrubland and steep gullies, in paddocks brown and bare
And in urban parks and gardens, you see them everywhere.
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I know a woman and her name is Lillian
A dear kind soul she has a 'heart of gold'
She has three children one had schizophrenia
And he died young just twenty five years old.
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I've seen them out by Woori Yallock way
On insects, grubs and grasshoppers they prey
In mid November latter days of spring
A time of year when young birds take to wing.
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It's the home of 'Puffing Billy' it's one just claim to renown
And the Premier Town of Sherbrooke that is little Belgrave Town
Forty k's south east of Melbourne where the mountain grays stand tall
And where when darkness cloaks the forest one can hear the boobook call.
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It grows in paddocks all around Australia
And blooms in mid Spring in the sun and rain
And Aussie farmers hate it with a vengeance
'Paterson's Curse or alias Salvation Jane'.
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As the train approach the station it slow down
And the conductor shouts the next stop Violet Town
At the station platform it grinds to stand still
And the Melbourne V line whistles loud and shrill.
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