The Migrant Farmer Poem by Francis Duggan

Brown dust from the sun scorched paddock is blowing into the sea
And the old sun bronzed migrant in this Land for half a century
Said a drier or a warmer spell than this I've yet to see
Since I left Duhallow years ago and the fields of Boherbue.

In fields of Boherbue he said you won't see dust flying there
December now the days are cold and frost is in the air
And robin on the windblown hedge feels no desire to sing
And ninety days of cold and rain before first breath of spring.

A migrant in this Land he said is all I'll ever be
But I would feel like a stranger now in distant Boherbue
The Land is brown for miles around and hardly any green
And the weather dry for weeks on end the driest I have seen

From Boherbue and Duhallow I've been too long away
And I love this southern Land he said and here my bones will lay
Why should I pine for my Land of birth when there's nothing there for me
And school going days and teenage years a fading memory.

His scrawny cattle standing in the stringybark tree shade
The drought stricken farmer lobby the state Government for aid
His cattle lose condition he has huge feed bill to pay
And on the first month of Summer he's obliged to feed them hay.

He lives on his small farm in Kilcunda by the Pacific sea
The ageing migrant farmer all the way from Boherbue
He say I love this Country and in this Land I've grown old
And I'd rather die of skin cancer than of frost bite and cold.