Francis Duggan City Poems

You never will find their names on a memorial wall
And any memories of them historians never do recall
The builders of the City who lay with the unsung
Many of them came from distant shores and spoke in a foreign tongue
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In this multicultural City where every race dwell
Every individual have their own story to tell
People of every Nation from places far and near
Of every culture you will find them here.
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Around my boots where I am sitting crumbs of bread they happily eat
The cheeky and colourful City pigeons so at home on the city street
Their cousins the rock pigeons of the Northlands in Town would feel so out of place
They once were the very same species though now quite a different race.
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She arrived here from Mexico City about seventeen years ago
And she's just had her thirty eight birthday a night out with her husband Joe
They live in Box Hill in Victoria where he has lived for most of his life
And she says in her beautiful accent 'me lucky to be good man's wife'.
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In every City, Town and Village the haves and have nots reside
But even the poorest of the poor have got their sense of pride
And it must be soul destroying for them to have to beg to stay alive
But pride has to take second place to the will to survive.
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The men who built this City at rest forever lay
They worked hard for to support their wives and children and they earned their every pay
They are the unsung heroes and they lived it the hard way
And we owe them for the prosperity that we enjoy today.
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As young men they never went to fight in wars in Countries far away
Perhaps this is the reason that they are the forgotten of today
For the men who built the city never a street parade
So sad to say from history they have been allowed to fade
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He hails from from the place where the Hopkins crawls slow
As near to the ocean it does silently flow
Where he first saw light of day and where he went to school
The young man from the old City of Warrnambool
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He hails from from the place where the Hopkins crawls slow
As near to the ocean it does silently flow
Where he first saw light of day and where he went to school
The young man from the old City of Warrnambool
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Where the weather never gets too warm nor neither too cool
In the beautiful old City of Warrnambool
A gem in the crown of Victoria's south west
As a livable City it does rate with the best
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Where the weather never gets too warm or cold or too cool
The beautiful old City of Warrnambool
That can boast of visitors from Countries Worldwide
Who travel on tourist coaches from Melbourne to the Premier City in south west Victoria's coastal countryside
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In a town where he is not made to feel welcome
And not trusted by anyone and disliked by some
Where even if he does become better known
He will never be referred to as one of our own
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In the Bendigo City botanical gardens deciduous trees turning brown
Where from the branches of the tall trees gray headed fruit bats roost hanging upside down
Bats in their hundreds roosting on almost every tree
In Nature there is always amazing sights for to see
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In the mostly blue sky just a few clouds of gray
It is indeed a very nice Autumn day
Where the Merri flows into the Pacific near Lady Bay
A mother with her two young children in the shallows splash and play
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For it's scenic beauty it has won renown
The City of Warrnambool a big beautiful Town
For it's friendly people it is widely known
One can say of them in a class of their own
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He is from the wooded hills of the yellow tailed black cockatoo
The birds known to some people as the weerloo
And though from his hometown in the high country he lives far away
His thoughts return to there more than once every day
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It has inspired story and ballad and song
The wonderful City of greater Geelong
Where every boy who plays football clings to a great dream
Of one day playing with the Cats a great A F L team
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In the coastal City known as Warrnambool
In the Winter you can swim in the heated swimming pool
And in Summer there's surfing and swimming and other good fun
As well as sunbathing in the lamp of the sun
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Nostalgia it is such an amazing thing
He still talks of the hurler the great Christy Ring
His sporting hero as a primary schoolboy
Reminiscing of his young years is a thing he enjoy.
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City man you'd best go back to town
If living in the country gets you down
And though the songbirds sing with voices sweet
You'd much prefer the noisy city street.
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Summer days come to the noisy City
And the city folk don their Summer attire
And the pigeon utters it's peculiar ditty
From it's nest atop the lofty spire.
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In New South Wales he spent his boyhood day
The little man with hair of silver gray
In paddock by his house the roos did play
And the nearest town was twenty miles away.
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A warm City with a cold cold heart
And of such a place I never could feel part
A vulgar show of riches all I see
I'd rather live in Gippsland by the sea.
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All alone in the big city and your money running low
And you've got no one to turn to and there's no one that you know
And no bank or institution who would chance you with small loan
And you feeling fairly homesick and you miles away from home.
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In Rotorua the Thermal City you see steam rise all around
In the parklands and town gardens hot steam coming from the ground
Boiling mud pools, boiling spring lakes, bubble and steam everywhere
If you go down to New Zealand make sure that you visit there
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