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Old

By That Old Hill

Posted Wednesday 6th April 2011 at 03:04 by Francis Duggan
The morning sky is overcast and gray
By that old hill far north and far away
From this Southern Land even as the bird does fly
Perhaps at least ten thousand miles of sky

Yet in my flights of fancy i do see
The bullfinch on bare branch of old ash tree
His beautiful feathers fluffed out for to keep out the chill
Blowing in the freshening cold wind from the hill

In late February a week from the calendar Spring
Too early...
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Old

'Tis Only In Fancy Now

Posted Wednesday 6th April 2011 at 03:00 by Francis Duggan
'Tis only in fancy now i climb to old Clara Hill
And hear the blackbird with the bright golden bill
Sing in the high woodland of green Claramore
A long way far north of this southern shore
When hawthorns are cloaked in their blooms of white to gray
And the old fields do wear their wildflowers of the May
And the nesting birds sing from dawn till gloam of day
The memories of what was with me surely will stay
Of my boyhood years as well as my...
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Old

Not For Mother Nature

Posted Wednesday 6th April 2011 at 02:54 by Francis Duggan
My wonder of her only does seem to grow
And so little about her i can claim to know
Yet from her I learn something new every day
We never stop learning as some like to say
The one known as Nature lives on every shore
And unlike all of her life forms she will live forever more
I have been her student since i was a boy
And learning from her i will always enjoy
We who claim ownership of land in some ways have it wrong
Since the land we...
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Old

The Water-tank Singer

Posted Wednesday 6th April 2011 at 02:51 by Francis Duggan
In the enclosed water tank in the backyard well hidden from sight
In his breeding Season he sings all the day and he sings all the night
Just a sort of a single plonk that he utters continuously is his breeding song
That he utters all the day and all the night long
Perhaps he's not successful in wooing a mate
I hear him in the morning and in the night late
He has not stopped singing for a week or more
From his constant plonking his throat must feel...
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Old

From Here To Birdsland

Posted Wednesday 6th April 2011 at 02:48 by Francis Duggan
From here to Birdsland many a kilometre of roadway
At least a four hours drive without any delay
But in my imagination i am back there today
Where the shrike thrush is whistling in his feathers of gray
Walking on the gravel path by the lake with Jedder my old dog of me trotting ahead
In my thoughts she is living though she is long dead
Whenever i went to Birdsland i took her with me
My faithful companion as true as can be
In the wood overlooking...
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