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Old

The Rufous Whistler

Posted Monday 7th December 2009 at 23:33 by Francis Duggan
Of Humankind he is one who does feel shy
The rufous whistler in the woodland nearby
He feels inspired to song when thunder's in the sky
For the reason for this is there one who knows why?
At the noise of passing truck he too bursts into song
The secrets of Nature with Nature belong
A bird of the woodland that one often does not see
One can say there are more conspicuous than he
Loud noise the song in his heart does stimulate
As if noise...
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Old

On Hearing Pee Wees

Posted Monday 7th December 2009 at 23:29 by Francis Duggan
On this drizzly evening in the late Southern Fall
The black and white pee wees repeatedly call
Pee wee pee wee from dawn till gloam of day
Their voices to their identity a give away
Known as the mudlark or as the pee wee
They build a nest of mud on branch of tree
Three to five pink eggs with spots of purple, brown and gray
At any time of year the female bird lay,
Nature it is such a marvellous thing
One can tell the bird by the song...
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Old

The Lovable Small Chirpers

Posted Monday 7th December 2009 at 23:26 by Francis Duggan
Originally from Africa they could live anywhere
House sparrows they are hardy and they are never rare
In parklands and back gardens one sees them all of the time
Easy to watch they have inspired the Nature poets to rhyme.

The little plain brown chirpers they do not have a song
They chirp all day and by their voices them you cannot get wrong
In Spring under the house eaves with small feathers they line their nest a straggly ball of hay
Their...
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Old

The Rose Tree Of Winter

Posted Sunday 6th December 2009 at 23:14 by Francis Duggan
In the cold winds of Winter she stands thorny and bare
In Summer large beautiful red flowers she did wear
The rose tree of Winter not a pretty sight
At a time of year with litle warmth in the sunlight,
When the birds in the sunlit gardens will nest and sing
She will wear her new leaves and rosebuds of the Spring
As a tree the rose tree does not grow very tall
Compared to most trees she does seem very small
But in her full bloom none as lovely...
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Old

The Creek Flowing At A Trickle

Posted Sunday 6th December 2009 at 23:10 by Francis Duggan
The creek from the high country trickles on down
Through the bare brown paddocks by the old bush town
Many miles from the nearest big city the place is so quiet
And the small bush flies are buzzing in the morning sunlight.

Despite recent heavy rains the creek is quite low
And going by local old timers and they ought to know
The landscape has never looked so brown and bare
And scarce enough of grass here for to support a hare.

...
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