Francis Duggan Childhood Poems

Happy childhood memories the best memories of all
And my younger years in Millstreet I will always recall
On evenings in Summer up to the mid Fall
In the Townpark at the West End we played gaelic football
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I recall when I was a young boy in my ninth year going on ten
I heard the shy cock pheasant cucking in early Summer in the rushy glen
He was one that I did hear often though him I rarely ever did see
A memory from the mid fifties that lives on in my memory,
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A saying from my childhood i recall i have heard said
That one never ought to speak ill of the dead
But those words to the living should also apply
A fair go to anyone we ought not to deny
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A saying from my childhood i recall from decades ago
That good triumphs over evil though now i feel this not necessarily so
In war between good and evil it is hard to differentiate
Though war winners are always seen as the good guys and their victory they do celebrate
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From where i now live in distance far away
The mentors of my childhood years in eternal rest lay
In life of their biggest worries they seemed to make light
They were blessed with the gifts of wisdom and insight
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From where i now live in distance far away
The mentors of my childhood years in eternal rest lay
In life of their biggest worries they seemed to make light
They were blessed with the gifts of wisdom and insight
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My memories of childhood are fading as I grow older and more gray
Yet in my wild flights of fancy I get the sweet scent of hay
In the mown meadows of Summer in the far northern July
And upwards above the rank rushes the brown lark carols as he fly.
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I still recall a memory from my childhood
Long years ago and many miles away
The robin on the flowering hawthorn singing
And the high fields wore their wildflowers of the May.
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The frost had left the windows looking gray
And no bird called at the first light of day
And the only sounds in yard at Claraghatlea
Made by cows in byre who bellowed for their hay.
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Some of them may be dead for years their bones in black earth lay
But the elders of my childhood years with me still seem to stay
I fancy they are living still I see them every day
And from the homes they once lived in they never went away.
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He was hero of my childhood in the distant long ago
When I was a young schoolgoer forty five years back or so,
He cut timber for a living in the rain and hail and snow
And weather seemed to make no difference to the mighty Willie Joe.
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I remember and why not I that saturday in July
I was ten years or eleven since then many years gone by
And the weather not so summery rain clouds gathering in the sky
Slashing thistles for my uncle in a field in Lisnaboy.
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