Donald Poem by Francis Duggan

They raise them hard in Donald that's what the old bloke said
They prepare them from an early stage for the rough road ahead
The children by their parents at a young age are told
That if they reach the rainbow's end they won't find pots of gold.

Not many jobs in and around Donald for the young people to stay
Some move to the big Victorian Cities and some move further away
To America and Europe and Cities Interstate
If you are born in Donald you are born to migrate.

For nine months of the year in Donald the climate warm and dry
And in Summer in the paddocks in the wind the brown dust fly
The farmers of the Wimmera from the cruel sun burnt brown
They slake their thirst at nightfall in the pubs in Donald Town.

Not known as a place of entertainment or of cultural renown
And not much to do in Donald after the sun goes down
Save go into a local pub and glut yourself with booze
And listen to the gossip and the boring local news.

You won't hear them talk of Leonardo there or Van Gogh or Picasso
Or of Wordsworth or of Tennyson they do not wish to know
Perhaps their link to culture is Aussie Rules Football
And the Premiership teams of Donald they readily can recall.

I know people from Donald who won't be hurrying back
To the old Town in the Wimmera off of the beaten track
And though some return at Christmas for the brief holiday
Their livelihood is elsewhere and in Donald they don't stay

The old bloke was raised in Donald and the years had made him gray
And he said I like all of the other kids was raised in the hard way
And the children by their parents there at a young age were told
That if they reach the rainbow's end they won't find pots of gold.