My Friends Back In My Prime Years
My friends back in my prime years I never did disown
It's just that I live far from them and apart we have grown
We drank and played football together but our separate ways we've gone
And we have forged new friendships and life of course goes on.
My friends back in my prime years may now look a bit gray
And they might not know me or I might not know them if by chance we met today
In my memory they have remained young but in reality
The years have left their mark on them as the years have left their mark on me.
Old father time the aloof one to anyone doesn't bow
And some of my friends of my prime years may be grand parents now
Perhaps they now are showing their age and time has left them slow
They could run fast as I recall some twenty years ago.
My friends back in my prime years I may now not recognize
For time leaves it's mark on all of us I've come to realize
I drunk beer with them in the pub and with them played football
And that was many years ago as I can well recall.
poem by Francis Duggan
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On Seeing A Photograph
A photo of an ageing face stirs an old memory
He is plainly not a shadow of the man he used to be
His balding head is hoary gray his hair it was dark brown
When we played football as teenagers in the park in our Hometown.
He was a sprightly youth back then two years younger than I
On looking back the decades the years just seemed to fly
He played football worked in the fields and walked miles every day
But like me he seems the worst for wear the years have left us gray.
Perhaps we would be strangers now if by chance we did meet
We might not recognize each other in passing on the street
We age a little every day time of us all takes care
And leaves us looking in the end the very worst for wear.
A photograph of one I knew from many years ago
And he has aged as I have aged time on us all does show
We played football together when we were near to our life's prime
But in the end we all lose out to ageless father time.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Old Jimmy
With the aid of walking stick he shuffles down the side street and time has left him looking stiff and gray
And truly it can be said of old Jimmy that he is one who has known a better day
Ageless father time takes care of everybody there was a time when he could run quite fast
But now he only can walk at a slow pace and all of his better days are in the past.
He was a football hero in his heyday the best on ground in nineteen forty one
The day that his club played in the Grand Final without him the Premiership could not be won
Close to his prime and in his early twenties on looking back that seems so long ago
It's true that time leaves it's mark on everybody the man who once ran fast now walking slow.
The hard games of football he played in now on him telling he has arthritis in his painful right knee
An injury that forced him into retirement when he was past his prime at thirty three
Back in the forties and fifties he was a football hero but football heroes like the seasons come and go
And that he once was a Grand Final hero is something few young people wish to know.
Old Jimmy slowly shuffles down the side walk a mere shell of the man he used to be
In forty one he starred in the Grand Final when he was near his prime at twenty three
And father time has left his mark on Jimmy and time 'tis said for anyone doesn't wait
And the grim reaper will take the king and pauper and the grim reaper will take the football great.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Happy Childhood Memories
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
My friends of my youth where might they be today
Like me have the years left them balder and gray
Though some of them in the home Parish did stay
In life one might say we just went our own way
Since those days so many years have come and gone
And time does not wait it just ticks on and on
Many of the friends of my youth I may not see again
Though good memories of them with me does remain
And in fancy I chase the football up and down
With my happy young friends in the Park of the Town.
poem by Francis Duggan
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The Boys I Went To School With
We played football in the school yard and we swam in the Finnow
But the years go by so quickly and to father time we bow
And the boys I went to school with perhaps now looking gray
And many of them from the Homeland shore like me live far away.
Many of the boys I went to school with and that's going back more than four decades in time
Are now ageing grand fathers and years beyond their prime
And those legs that could move so quickly some forty years ago
Now feeling tired and heavy and their fastest pace is slow.
The boys I went to school with have known a better day
And that time takes care of everyone it would be fair to say
Our young years went too quickly and time just flitted by
And on looking back it seems like only yesterday when I was a school boy.
Some of the boys I went to school with to the grim reaper have gone
But life back in the old Hometown as usual carries on
And in the fields near Millstreet Town where the rank rushes grow
The Finnow on towards Drishane and the Blackwater flow.
Most of the boys I went to school with I have not seen for years
But for my fading memories I don't have any tears
We played football in the school yard and in Summer swam in the Finnow
But the years go by so quickly and to father time we bow.
poem by Francis Duggan
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William Leary
William Leary is one of the famed Learys of Millstreet a Cork and Duhallow legend of the Gaelic Football game
He played football for Cork and his Club Millstreet and is now in the Duhallow sporting Hall of Fame
He once scored two goals in a Munster Final in Killarney a feat that is still talked of today
In his Gaelic Football career a remembered highlight though many great games the great one did play.
William Leary in his prime a dashing forward one of the great footballers of Millstreet
He proved a headache for opposing defenders with his ball skills he was so quick on his feet
And off of the field of play a successful business person beyond Millstreet known and liked far and wide
To his family and his many friends around Duhallow his many achievements are a sense of pride.
William Leary is now in his early seventies it has been some time since he has played football
One of the great Gaelic Footballers of Millstreet as those who watched him play can well recall
It has been four decades and a few years and that is looking back in time
When he cheered Millstreet hearts with his marvellous ball skills he was a speedy fellow in his prime.
Good to see him with his wife and family on the Millstreet web site on his induction into Duhallow's Hall of Fame
With honour he wore the Cork and Millstreet Jerseys and with honour he carries the famous Leary name
I watched him play when i was a young fellow and that is going back many years ago
He was a dashing forward in his prime years the one who left speedy defenders looking slow.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Berwick's Fairest
The fairest one in Berwick when she was in her prime
But that was fifteen years ago and that's going back in time
She may be only forty but she has put on weight
And the one who once had many suitors goes un-noticed of late.
Her primary school going sons of ten and eleven she raises them on her own
And she works hard for to make ends meet and better times she's known
Three years back her husband left her for another and child support to her doesn't pay
And for her children and her own survival she must battle all the way.
Ever since her husband left her she's left her body go into disrepair
And of how she looks to others she seem to no longer care
She has put on twenty kilos and much gray in her brown hair
And for one only in her mid life she is showing much wear and tear.
That she was Berwick's fairest might seem hard to realize
For if you had known her in her prime day her you may not recognize
And for one who looked quite attractive up to a decade ago
She has aged so very quickly and the hard life on her show
poem by Francis Duggan
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The Future Is The Children's
The future is the children's and I am of the past
And I too had my young years but nothing ever last
On looking back the Seasons how quickly the years have gone
Old age is fast approaching and the clock ticks on and on.
The future is the children's the children of today
They have the gift of youth with them though youth with them won't stay
On looking back decades from now when time has left them slow
They will wonder as I do where did the years to go.
The years are catching up one me and time has left me gray
And the future is the children's that would be true to say
The people in their sixties are running out of time
And few of them will be living when today's children are in their prime.
The future is the children's and to them alone belong
And those who will tell you differently have somehow got it wrong
But the hands of time keep turning and time on none does wait
And all of us are branded with an invisible use by date.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Those Legs That Once Could Run So Fast
Those legs that once could run so fast feel heavy now and slow
He sure is not the man he was some forty years ago
He played football with his young mates he drank till pub closing time
But that was many years ago when he was in his prime,
On looking back the decades time seems to have gone fast
He had his good days one must suppose though nothing seems to last
And time catches up on all of us though some with hair dye cover their gray
But Mother Nature on us all does have the final say,
Forty five years ago he was the hero of the local Football team
In the cup final he kicked the winning goal a boost to his self esteem
By his team-mates he was shouldered from the field of play the cheers for him rang loud
And thinking of his glorious hour still makes him feel so proud
And now at night he sits at home with his ageing and forgetful wife
And time is catching up on him one might say such is life.
poem by Francis Duggan
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The Dying Ex Football Champion
Around his bed his friends and family but of them he's not aware
His life's journey about to end old Joe the ex footballer player
On his back his eyes closed to his surroundings the life from him ebbing away
Last month he celebrated his eightieth birthday and today his life's final day.
Pre-deceased by his wife Mel she died five years ago
The last two years of his life's journey for him painful and slow
Most of those he played with and against in his football years to the Reaper long gone
But like the battler that he is to the end he's battling on.
Fifty five years ago the Captain of the great Premiership team
By football fans from near and far he was held in high esteem
But time takes care of everyone and everyone means all
And time has also taken toll of the champion of football.
Around his bed his friends and family a silent vigil keep
The end of his life's journey no more than an hour away he is in his final sleep
'Tis a fact those who love life do find it hard to die
But 'tis also a fact that all human beings are mortals and facts do never lie.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Pride Comes Before A Fall
The great one does not last a champion in his prime
He lost to a younger man with some help from father time
The years had left him slow time takes care of us all
He defended his pride but pride comes before a fall.
And even what a difference five or six years can make
To keep on keeping on for him a big mistake
He should have called it quits a couple of years ago
For the money he kept going though the years had left him slow.
Once feted and admired but that was in the past
And he too had his day and nothing ever last
He went down rather tame to one that he once would beat
And for one proud as he there is no pride in defeat.
The beaten one this time he has called it a day
Though perhaps six years ago he should have given his game away
But his pride kept him going wisdom never was his friend
And his glory day for him one might say at an end.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Old Rupert
She has had him since he was a pup some thirteen years or so
And between Genevieve and her border collie the bond of friendship grow
In his prime in the late nineties going back ten years ago
Old Rupert not the dog he was the years have left him slow
A beautiful black and white dog his muzzle has turned to gray
But he still digs for rabbits when he gets the chance his natural dog way
He comes home to Genevieve with an earthy coat and earth around his face and jaws
And she scolds him as she brushes him and washes the earth from his paws
To dig for rabbits to a dog is not doing any wrong
And for this Genevieve is quick to forgive him the bond between them strong
Old Rupert is not hard to please his needs in life are small
A walk or a drive in the car are things he loves best of all
Genevieve has had since he was a pup in nineteen ninety four
He was a fine dog in his prime going back ten years or more.
poem by Francis Duggan
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I Wish That I Could Have Stayed In My Twenties
Life seemed so good when I was in my twenties
Before time left me looking old and gray
I used to play Soccer and Gaelic football
And I could run and chase the ball all day.
I was never much good at soccer or Gaelic football
Though like many others I too dreamt of fame
But I did not play for esteem and honours
I only played because I loved the game
I wish that I could have stayed in my twenties
Life is much better for those in their prime
But on looking back three decades passed so quickly
And one can't turn back the hands of time.
It has been said that with gray hairs there's wisdom
But as often is the case it isn't so
Some people as they age they grow less tolerant
And they seemed to have more wisdom years ago.
The best years of my life were in my twenties
When I could run and chase the ball all day
And don't tell me that in gray hairs there is wisdom
When it is more of a sign of ageing and decay.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Eddie O Mahony
He never more will walk in the Town of Millstreet in St Mary's cemetery at peace he lay
Perhaps in his mid forties to his early fifties he did die young and it would be fair to say
Of him that he was really a nice person he made so many friends along life's way
And one day his lot it will be our lot as for each of us there is a final day.
In his younger years Eddie O Mahony played Soccer and Gaelic Football in Brian Sullivan's Mal Paso pub he was well known
His family and his many friends will mourn him and Murphy's Terrace and Millstreet Town has lost one of it's own
He seemed so young for to go to the reaper but suppose he was not meant for to grow old
But in the Mal Paso pub his old mates will recall him when stories of the good days will be told.
A youngish man he had so much to live for he did not live for to die as an old man
The reaper takes the young and old and ageing though short in time is the longest life span
One can only hope for Eddie that his end was peaceful that at his end he did not suffer pain
He was well known and well liked around Millstreet and with those who knew him good memories of him will remain.
Pre-deceased by his beloved father Dan O, Eddie is one his friends always will recall
In his younger years as i can well remember he played Sports, Soccer and Gaelic Football
He died as a young enough man that seems so sad of years he did not even reach three score
And he will be sadly missed from the Mal Paso and may he rest in peace forever more.
poem by Francis Duggan
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A Wave From Jimmy Sullivan
A wave from Jimmy Sullivan in Millstreet far away
A nice and spontaneous gesture that did help to make my day
From Clara road one must presume in view of Clara hill
It brought back the old memories as if time had stood still.
When we played Soccer and Gaelic football some twenty years ago
Though our old legs ageing back then nowadays are far more slow
But Jimmy looking fit and well despite the march of time
He was a quick and elusive player when he was in his prime.
One of those lucky people who has a sense of place
In Millstreet Town and Parish his is a well known face
He never will leave Millstreet in Millstreet he will stay
And in his beloved Town of Millstreet he will grow old and gray.
From life i do feel hardened and i feel too old for tears
But that wave from Jimmy Sullivan it took me back the years
To when we were young and fitter and we chased the ball around
In the Inch field at Claraghatlea back then our football ground.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Twenty Years Ago
It's been a long time since I walked
Through this old town
But oh how the memories start to flow
And there's the old movie house
They finally closed it down
You could find me there every Friday night
Twenty years ago.
I worked the counter at the drugstore down the street
But nobody's left there I would know
On Saturday mornings that's where
All my friends would meet
You'd be surprised to know what a dime would buy
Twenty years ago.
All my memories from those days come gather round me
What I'd give if they could take me back in time
It almost seems like yesterday
Where do the good times go?
Life was so much easier twenty years ago.
I guess I should stop by Mr. Johnson's hardware store
His only son was my friend Joe
But he joined the army back in 1964
How could we know he would never come back
Twenty years ago...
song performed by by Kenny Rogers
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The Good Memories Of What Was
I was not any use at Gaelic Football or Soccer though I played in Millstreet Townpark in the rain
And I played Soccer in Neily Duggan's Inch Field but these things I will never do again
With my young friends for us it was enjoyment but few things in life stay the same
The fire of youth in us was burning but it now is a flickering flame
We never thought about growing older the gift of youth is a great thing
Though of the past we have our memories and till death to them we will cling
The thought that we age with the Seasons does seldom enter the young mind
But the years leave us frailer and older eternal youth not for air breathing kind
But for as long as we have the gift of memory of our prime years good memories we retain
And often in our flights of fancy the past we do visit again
I still recall the joy and laughter as we chased the football up and down
On Summer evenings often wet and windy in the Townpark of old Millstreet Town
The years leave us all looking older and the clock on our lives ticking on
But the good memories of what was bring us comfort of the past to the forever gone.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Those That I Went To School With
Some of them with the departed and the others growing old and gray
Those that I went to school with in the long gone yesterday
From the boys and girls I went to school with many years before I reached my prime
I am separated by distance and by long years of time.
Some of them live far distant from Hibernia's windswept shore
And from the Town in View of Clara hill overlooking Claramore
And some of them remained in Duhallow married and there raised their family
And some of them remained unattached single and fancy free.
Most of those I went to school with I have not seen for years
And for the past and for what has been I've shed nostalgic tears
Like every other migrant for the past forever gone
But the present is what matters and we keep on keeping on.
Of those I went to school with good memories I retain
Though most of them I realize I will never meet again
We've gone our separate ways in life but memories of them I do recall
And happy memories of what was the best memories of all.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Dan Leary
Dan Leary hard man of Millstreet Gaelic Football
He was a fearless fellow on his day
He took and gave some hard bone crunching tackles
And from a challenge never backed away.
Dan Leary was a hero of my childhood
And a hero in the Millstreet green and gold
And about his bravery on the Gaelic playing fields
Some quite amazing stories have been told.
I often saw Dan Leary play for Millstreet
In summer when the roses were in bloom
Against the better club teams in Cork County
In venues such as Coachford and Macroom.
When Millstreet were a force in Gaelic football
On looking back that seems so long ago
The heroes of my childhood years are ageing
And father time has left them gray and slow.
Dan Leary's sprightly younger brother Willie
A Gaelic footballer one never could forget
Twice in a Munster final in Killarney
Rasping shots from his boot bulged the Kerry net.
Long years ago when I was a young fellow
Four decades back and that's a lengthy span
Dan Leary played at corner back for Millstreet
And in his prime he was a fearless man.
poem by Francis Duggan
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John Buckley
John Buckley lived in Mushera upon the higher ground
A quiet and decent person his nickname 'John The Pound'
For the Aubane Gaelic Football Club he played Gaelic Football
Back in the nineteen sixties as I can well recall.
He never harmed anyone lived in the honest way
And respect to his memory his friends and family pay
Perhaps in his early seventies and it does seem sad to say
That with the dead of Millstreet his remains forever lay.
In the famous Aubane colours some great games he did play
Till the years too crept up on him and time does tick away
A strong and sturdy fellow when he was in his prime
But we all do become victims of ageless father time.
He will never be seen on the high Mushera road by Mushera Hill again
But fond memories of the man he was in the minds of those who knew him will remain
One can only hope that from life his was not a painful release
He was a decent person and may he rest in peace.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Henry
Mary and I were twenty-two
When we were wed;
A well-matched pair, right smart to view
The town's folk said.
For twenty years I have been true
To nuptial bed.
But oh alas! The march of time,
Life's wear and tear!
Now I am in my lusty prime
With pep to spare,
While she looks ten more years than I'm,
With greying hair.
'Twas on our trip dear friends among,
To New Orleans,
A stranger's silly trip of tongue
Kiboshed my dreams:
I heard her say: 'How very young
His mother seems.'
Child-bearing gets a woman down,
And six had she;
Yet now somehow I feel a clown
When she's with me;
When cuties smile one cannot frown,
You must agree.
How often I have heard it said:
'For happy fate,
In age a girl ten years ahead
Should choose her mate.'
Now twenty years to Mary wed
I know too late.
poem by Robert William Service
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