The Eastern Curlews Poem by Francis Duggan

To McLoughlins beach the curlews are returning to Winter in the sun shine in the south
Above the mudflats in South Gippsland by the Pacific you hear them piping as they fly about
Their song once heard can never be mistaken they always pipe so sweetly as they fly
Their pleasant notes I carry in my memory a thing of beauty is a thing of joy.

These migrant long billed waders of the mudflats probe for invertebrates and slugs when the tide is out
Brown and plain birds not that attractive to look at but the beauty of their song never in doubt
In the distance the southern ocean rumbling and when the eastern curlews take to wing
Their bubbling notes fill the air with Nature's music in words how can one describe such a wondrous thing.

They journey down from Siberia in September to the southern shores thousands of miles away
From their home parts of the east of the northland where they first looked upon the light of day
They spend the warm months by the southern ocean but they will make the journey home in May
To raise their family in the northern Summer in their nomadic lifestyle Nature has her say.

At McLoughlins beach all through the Spring and Summer their flute like notes one never could mistake
Even in the moonlight they can be heard piping and the Villagers they hear them at daybreak
The eastern curlews the nomadic waders each years from north to south and back again they fly
At McLoughlins beach I've often heard them piping a thing of beauty is a thing of joy.