Far Away From The Hill Of The Wombat Poem by Francis Duggan

With a partner and a seven months old daughter
He is in the big Town for to stay
Far away from the hill of the wombat
Where the butcherbird welcomes the day

But for the old hill he's not homesick
For he is back there when he visualize
He can hear the brown bushlark singing
As above the short brown grass he rise.

The coughings of the male roos in the moonlight
And the scream of the barn owl he hear
The bush from him may seem far distant
But in fancy to him it is near.

The soft whistling of the wombat
The sounds of the bush night he retain
And often in his flights of fancy
He visits the bushland again.

A Primary school-going boy of the nineties
Going back some fifteen years ago
But he now lives far from the hill of the wombat
And the home of the dark pale eyed crow.