Francis Duggan Poems

Another Season I've managed to survive
But I feel so happy just to be alive
The nesting wild birds in the park chirp and sing
On this warm and beautiful day in the Spring
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The white backed magpie he flutes on the black wattle tree
Where Nature's great beauty is all around me
And I know them by their song though them I cannot see
The black and white birds known to most as pee wee.
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The flute like song of the olive backed oriole I fancy I hear
On the tall gums of Sherbrooke in the Spring of the year
The cockatoos call and the nesting birds sing
Oh to be in the Yarra Ranges in the prime of the Spring
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My hopes of success are beginning to fade
As a writer I feel I will not make the grade
From writing not many know of wealth and fame
And penning for most a hungry belly game
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The juvenile magpie feels hungry it's parents bring it tidbits of food
But it does not seem satisfied it is in a begging mood
One of the parents bring it a mouse it had killed too big for the young one to eat
In Nature all smaller things are prey to those with a taste for meat
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If I should die tomorrow my praises none will sing
Though a few may say for everyone there is a final Spring
And he'll never more hear the shrike thrush sing in his cloak of brown and gray
Piping softly on the blackwood tree in the fading light of day.
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The unmistakeable voice of the blackbird his song is a song that I know
In Spring his kindred birds sing on the hedgerows in the fields where Finnow waters flow
By Millstreet Town to the Blackwater far north of here and far away
When I was younger and fitter and stronger the years have left me looking gray
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So many years I've known her yet so little of her know
Yet my love for her does not lessen it only seems to grow
Amazing Mother Nature her beauty everywhere
The Goddess of this Planet Earth none with her to compare
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The mob are out there baying for blood though for his crimes he'll pay
He would not receive a fair trial if they did have their way
They would hang him from the nearest tree and leave him there to die
We do not need the injustice of the mob and that is not a lie
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With their strong beaks for their dark seeds they shred pine cones the yellow tail black cockatoos
The huge dark brown parrots of the mountains that some refer to as weerloos
From the calls they make in communication especially whilst they are in flight
To see them in small flocks is a thing of beauty and makes for a spectacular sight
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