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Old

Where The Sugar Cane Grow

Posted Saturday 6th March 2010 at 20:48 by Francis Duggan
Her hair is as black as the wings of a crow
The one from the place where the sugar cane grow
Her skin like her eyes is a lovely dark brown
She yearns for the warmth of her Queensland Hometown
She will be back home for the Sunshine Coast Spring
When in the Townpark the green figbirds will sing
Where at evenings she will lay by the beach in the shade of the palm trees
Relaxed and content in the cool ocean breeze
That one can feel homesick even...
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Old

The Sounds Of The Night

Posted Saturday 6th March 2010 at 20:45 by Francis Duggan
The tiny frogs singing in the roadside drain
And the magpie is warbling in the wind and the rain
And cloaked by the darkness the brown boobook owl cry
His mopoke call echoing in the night sky
Her secrets from us Mother Nature does keep
Her night creatures active whilst her day creatures sleep
Our wonderment of her ways only seem to grow
So little about her we do seem to know
In their breeding Season of late Winter to early Spring of the year...
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Old

Colette The Whale

Posted Saturday 6th March 2010 at 20:42 by Francis Duggan
Colette the baby leviathan her brief life was a tragic tale
She did not grow into an adult and become a giant marine humpback whale
She was forsaken by her mother for what reason who is to know
At the many mysteries of Nature one's wonderment only does grow.

She adopted a moored boat as a mother but when she nudged it for milk such it could not give
Poor Colette had become an orphan she was not destined for to live
For to swim with her pod the great...
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Old

Old Clara In Millstreet

Posted Saturday 6th March 2010 at 20:37 by Francis Duggan
On going back in time 'tis many years ago
Since I last saw old Clara in his hat of snow
The old hill in Duhallow that ever looks down
On the fields of Millstreet and on Millstreet Town
And the flat rushy fields where Finnow waters flow
On towards the Blackwater by ditch and hedgerow
Old places I loved that would not have changed in time
That have inspired the bards of Duhallow to rhyme
At least a two hours drive by car from Hibernia's shore...
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Old

In Fancy I Hear

Posted Friday 5th March 2010 at 20:34 by Francis Duggan
The foothills of Clara from here far away
But in fancy I hear the lark at break of day
Above the heather and bracken carolling as he does fly
Before the sun shines in the gray morning sky
I never again may see the stony bohreen
Where on it's ditch in past Springs I often have seen
Primroses, bluebells and snowdrops blooming in the May
The beauty we knew as we age with us stay
For as long as the gift of memory we retain
We can go back...
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