Francis Duggan Poems

The flute of the Aussie magpie is a pleasant thing to hear
On nights in late Winter and early Spring it echoes melodious and clear
A thing of natural beauty is always a thing of joy
I've been in love with Nature ever since I was a boy
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He does look rather surly and the years have left him gray
The man with bushy eyebrows to me never says good day
One I used to acknowledge in passing a friendly hi
But my greeting met with silence he never did reply.
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The stuff I pen to paper is stuff I cannot sell
The type that literary critics dismiss as doggerel
After many years of penning stuff I remain an unknown
Yet I never steal others ideas my verses are my own
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The Norfolk Pines of Warrnambool the pride of coastal trees
Their branches seem to dance about in the freshening evening breeze
They are quite unmistakeable in their foliage of dark green
And all around the big coastal Town in numbers they are seen
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Created out of pleasure and born out of a woman's pain
Many of us live our lives just for personal gain
Call it lust for life or call it what you may
Yet the clock on our lives it keeps ticking away.
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There's so much in Nature of which of to sing
The beautiful songs of the birds is a marvellous thing,
The music in the park of the freshening breeze
As it blows in the foliage of the bushes and trees
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In the cool gray of the dawning I hear the blackbird sing
One of Nature's finest minstrels of the far southern Spring
From the males of his own kind he has borders to defend
When the urge to breed is on him he trusts none as a friend
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On such rare and marvellous talent how can one put a price
She surely is amazing the one and only Joyce
She has tried every form of poetry one must say with success
And to lovers of poetry Worldwide she brings great happiness.
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When last I was in Dunkeld on an evening in the early Spring
The long billed corellas squawked on the gums and the grey shrike thrush did sing
And a freshening breeze from Mt Sturgeon blew through the Rural Town
And young boys in the play park chased a football up and down,
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On the fence post in the paddock the black pale eyed crow
Is cawing in the gloam where the Wannon waters flow
On through the Southern Grampians to the Pacific shore
A journey destined to last forever more,
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