In Baxters Land In September Poem by Francis Duggan

In Baxters Land in Wonthaggi where the roos are wild and shy
The tireless welcome swallows just above the rank grass fly
Since the flying insects that they feed on in cool weather don't go high
When the sun is clouded over and rain clouds are in the sky.

A pair of eastern rosellas fly to the old gum tree
With morsels of food for their babies in their nesting cavity
And the grey shrike thrush is whistling his voice none could mistake
Upon a flowering golden wattle on the banks of Baxters lake.

A pair of black swans and their cygnets swim close to the lake shore
And a pair of little grebes with babies on their backs I counted at least four
They both dived under water and surfaced further out
And they do seem very wary when humans are about.

On the dead trees standing in the lake the ibises roost at night
One can see them silhoutted in the pale and dim moonlight
And the masked lapwings are calling in their breeding territory
And they mob the prowling foxes to protect their family.

In Baxters lake in September the shy chestnut teal breed
And moorhens, coots and eastern swamphens on the mudflats with their families feed
And sandpipiers from the Artic for invertebrates probe the soft mud and clay
Just a stop off on their travels on their southern holiday.

In Baxters Land in September the butcher bird sings all day
long
And thete is such wild beauty in the magpie's warbling song
And the tireless welcome swallows just above the rank grass fly
For the flying insects they feed on never high when rain is nigh.