The Hills Of Archies Creek Poem by Francis Duggan

The blackbird flies to her hedgerow nest with lichen in her beak
And the magpie's song re-echo through the hills of Archies Creek
And on her nest cloaked by high grass inconspicuous in her brown
The shy lark cloaks her nestlings eight miles from Wonthaggi Town.

Above the high green paddock her airborne partner sing
Up towards the gates of heaven he carols on the wing
A small speck that grows smaller till in clouds he disappear
The little bird has vanished but his song I still can hear.

On the high Loch road I met a man the years had made him gray
Since I was born I have lived here that's what I heard him say
The lust for wander I've not felt and adventure I don't seek
I love the peace and beauty of the hills of Archies Creek.

He had never travelled over seas or the great cities had seen
And he's not been to the far off hills his own hills far more green
And he doesn't yearn to see the Pyramids or the Seven Hills of Rome
Amongst the green hills of Archies Creek he's always felt at home.

Where the butcherbird he flutes at dawn upon the blackwood tree
And the Powlett river down the hill goes babbling towards the sea
The coastal lands look greener when the Spring is at her peak
Eight miles out of Wonthaggi from the hills of Archies Creek.