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Old

The Hopkins River

Posted Monday 14th September 2009 at 01:19 by Francis Duggan
Centuries before the black people to this land came
An unknown Country that did not have a name
The river now known as the Hopkins through the scrublands did flow
And that is going back many centuries ago.

The dinosaurs came at the twilight of the day
For to slake their thirst at the quiet water-way
And though the dinosaurs from the World are forever gone
The old Hopkins river keeps babbling on.

Through the flat brown Countryside...
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Old

The Koala

Posted Monday 14th September 2009 at 01:09 by Francis Duggan
He's not been known to expend energy
Spends most of his life on high branch of gum tree
Scratching his ears and sitting on his bum
And feasting on the leaves of manna gum.

Whilst other creatures run and sport all day
He eat and sleep and doze his life away
Small eyes, big ears and button type dark nose
All night and day he sleep and eat and doze.

By white man hunted to extinction brink
The Koala, Aboriginal for 'no drink'...
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Old

Pied Shag

Posted Sunday 13th September 2009 at 01:23 by Francis Duggan
To the bank of the lake the pied shag she fly
Where she spreads her wet wings out to dry
To rid herself of parasites some venture to say
After fishing she does this many times each day.

Of human kind she lives in fear
And if human being is passing near
She swims further out on the lake
Where she feels more secure and for safety sake.

Her and her partner build a nest of sticks on a bush or a tree
Lay pale green or blue...
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Old

On Terrys Hill

Posted Sunday 13th September 2009 at 01:20 by Francis Duggan
On the high ground in the freshening winds their branches gently wave
The huge gum trees known as mountain ash in the Woodland of Belgrave
And the laughter of the kookaburras familiar and quite shrill
Echoes in the silent dawn across old Terrys Hill.

In nostalgic fancy I can hear the flocks of pied currawong
You hear them once and the next time you do not get them wrong
And the crimson rosellas so beautiful to see
They pipe their very pleasant...
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Old

When Last I Heard The Dunnock Sing

Posted Sunday 13th September 2009 at 01:16 by Francis Duggan
When last I heard the dunnock sing along the ditch of the bohreen
The snowdrops and the bluebells in clusters to be seen
And the hawthorn trees looked lovely in their white flowers of the May
But that was many years ago and many miles away.

The fields were full of wildflowers and everywhere looked lush and green
And the grass flattened by the waterway to tell where the floods had been
And though down the old bohreen I may never walk again
...
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