Francis Duggan

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The Man From The Road To Rathmore

He lives far south of his northern first homeland the cliffs of Hibernia's shore
And even further south of Duhallow and Sliabh Luachra the man from the road to Rathmore
He is far from Clara and Caherbarnagh and Gortavehy the old hill of stone
And trhe famous twin hills of Sliabh Luachra known to many as the Paps of Shrone

Last Spring his wife of forty eight Summers of cancer died painful and slow
For many weeks he grieved the passing of the greatest love he ever did know
It grieved him for to see her suffer the sadness of loss with him does remain
And all he has left are the photos and memories of one he will not see again

He is seven times a grandfather and the years have left him looking gray
And of his young years he has only memories of old places he love far away
In his first home-place today he would be a stranger and this does seem a sad thing to say
He will never again see the old fields in Nature's wildflowers of the May

A stranger in Millstreet and Cullen and Gneeveguilla, Rathmore and Knocknagree
Even from the first home-place years of absence makes one a stranger this is how it is and always will be
He was a young man of the fifties the fifties a long time ago
And as is said of time by the wise one that it does become everyone's foe

He sits in the bright evening sunshine with his dog and a warm flask of tea
Watching the gannets from great heights for their prey diving into the sea
A man who has seen many Seasons of years three with the four score
A long way south of his first home-place and the roadway that leads to Rathmore.

Topic(s) of this poem: people

Poem Submitted: Wednesday, July 27, 2016

Form: Verse


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