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Old

Most Birds By Their Voices

Posted Monday 28th December 2009 at 19:38 by Francis Duggan
Most birds by their voices one cannot get wrong
The chirpings of crimson rosellas the call of the pied currawong
The laughter of the kookaburra the magpie's flute like song
To each individual bird species their own voice belong
The blackbird sings his best in the Spring of the year
And the song of the shrike thrush is pleasant to hear
And though all species of lorikeets to me sound much the same
Those who know more of birds than I by their voices...
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Old

With Jack The Brown Dog

Posted Monday 28th December 2009 at 19:34 by Francis Duggan
When I was seven years old in nineteen fifty four
I hunted for rabbits in old Claramore
With Jack the brown working dog a young dog then
The boys of the fifties are now ageing men
In his grave Jack has lain now for many a day
In our backyard in Claraghatlea he forever will lay
A devoted companion as I do recall
A four legged friend is the best friend of all
recalling my youth is a thing I enjoy
They were my happiest years when I was...
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Old

Memories Of South West Gippsland

Posted Sunday 27th December 2009 at 20:35 by Francis Duggan
The Powlett river crawls it's way through the scrublands
And by the sandhills bordering the sea
Where the red wattlebirds call on the coastal banksias
And in the caravan park magpie lark sings pee wee

It has been awhile since I've been in South west Gippsland
Or looked on the ocean from Kilcunda height
On windy days to watch the huge surf waves rolling
To say the least is an amazing sight.

The silver and black back gulls I fancy...
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Old

I Live Far From My Native Land

Posted Sunday 27th December 2009 at 20:31 by Francis Duggan
I live far from my Native Land and Hibernia's windswept shore
And from my old home by the roadway from Millstreet to Rathmore
But in my flights of fancy I hear the silver tongued rill
Go babbling towards the river down the high fields by the hill
The songbirds of my younger years live in my memory
I hear them sing in grove and wood on hedgerow, bush and tree
And above the rushy meadow just a small speck in the sky
I hear the skylark carolling as upwards...
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Old

On Seeing Moorhens And Coots

Posted Sunday 27th December 2009 at 20:25 by Francis Duggan
Like dark corks amidst the windblown waves they keep bobbing up and down
The moorhens and their cousin coots in the big lake near the town
From water they never venture far they swim and dive for their acquatic prey
They are born to be water birds Nature made them this way
Either searching for insects by the lake shore or swimming one sees them every day
Their larger cousins swamphens from water further tend to stray,
Moorhen and Coot seem different in their...
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