A Wintery Day
The sun hidden in dark gray clouds Winter wears her shroud of gloom
But on the camellias and the magnolias the pink and white flowers bloom
And though the wind with a damp cold chill is blowing from north to south
Even in the depths of Winter Nature's beauty is about
The soft chirpings of the crimson rosellas so pleasant for to hear
Their notes do not seem to vary at any time of year
And the flute like notes of the magpie in the wooded hillside ring
In this their breeding Season at night his kind does sing
The harsh calls of the white sulphur crested cockatoos one never could mistake
One does often hear them in the wood at nightfall and daybreak
And the bubbling song of the grey butcherbird melodious and clear
Brings to the gloomy Winter's day the joy of Nature's cheer
The rain it falls in drizzles and the breeze has a cool chill
And the dampness of the Winter hangs around the wooded hill.
poem by Francis Duggan
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On Hearing A White Backed Magpie Singing In The Rain
The white backed magpie singing and skies so gloomy gray
And magpie does sound happy on such a gloomy day
But why is magpie happy what reason for his joy
All in the depths of Winter this morning in July? .
The rain come down in torrents and dark clouds o'er the hill
And freshening winds blow colder the breath of winter chill
The raindrops freely running adown the window pane
And still the magpie singing and whistling in the rain.
Why is the magpie singing what reason for his cheer
On this cold day in winter the wettest of the year?
The wettest day of Winter the wind blow cold and strong
And merry magpie singing his distinct happy song.
The white backed magpie piping his happy melody
On wettest day in Winter on rain soaked blackwood tree
And I ponder the question the simple question why?
The magpie feel so happy on wet day in July.
poem by Francis Duggan
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July The First
The grey roos sheltering beneath the pine trees it is a wet and a wintery Winter's day
Yet in the rain the magpie he is piping on a high branch of a tall mountain gray
And yet the weather is not cold or chilly it does not seem a bad start to July
The Winter sun by the rain is hidden and overcast looking the morning sky
The Southern Winter I feel is far more pleasant than the Southern Summer at least the weather never gets too cold
That I do find mild Winter days a bit chilly has to be proof I must be getting old
On the Winter flowering trees the red wattlebirds are calling they have a certain hoarseness in their cry
And the pied currawongs the dark crow sized birds their karrawang notes are uttering as through the park from tree to tree they fly,
The white cockatoos in the drizzling rain are squawking from other birds them one cannot mistake
They are at their noisiest in the gloam of evening and in the early morning at daybreak
Three species of white cockatoo the sulphur crested and long billed and short billed corella by voice and appearance from each other not hard to identify
They live in large flocks and to each other nearby,
The rain drizzling down from a sky that's gloomy gray
But for July the first it is mild enough for a Winter's day.
poem by Francis Duggan
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August The Thirtieth
The sky overcast the rain comes down in drizzle August the thirtieth the date of today
This time tomorrow yes this time tomorrow Spring will be just a few hours away
Some birds are nest building others on their eggs sitting male magpie is piping on the stringybark tree
At this time of year he attacks without warning even humans who venture near his territory.
The clock on the Winter is ticking and ticking time on anyone or anything does not wait
Fragile pink blossoms on the fruit trees in the garden such things of beauty that Nature create
Spring brings her youth to this Southern Country spreading her greenery everywhere she goes
Wildflowers by the creek are coming to bloom now pink on the buds amongst the thorns of the rose
August the thirtieth the Winter is dying Spring is a beautiful time of the year
White flowers in clusters amongst the pittosporums the flute of the butcherbird pleasant to hear
Everyday nearer to bloom and to sunshine the year one might say fast aproaching it's prime
Winter is dying the year's coldest Season Spring brings her green with her fresh and warm clime.
August the thirtieth the second last day of the Winter rain fall in drizzle from an overcast sky
Pink flowers are fading upon the camellias blooms of the Winter in early Spring die
The Goddess of Spring she is quickly approaching over the cliffs of the southern bay
On this time tomorrow from this Southern Country she will be only a few hours away.
poem by Francis Duggan
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A Morning In Late June
In the cold depths of Winter the grey butcherbird sing
And only nine weeks or thereabouts till the first breath of Spring
Five days ago of daylight hours the year's shortest day
And time it keeps ticking and ticking away.
The drake in the pond performs his courtship display
As he swims by his mate he nods his head her way
And he quacks to tell others she belongs to me
He will be the father of her family.
The buds on the camellias beginning to sprout
In the coldest of Winter their blooms will be out
They will be cloaked in flowers by the end of July
When the chill winds of Winter blow across the sky.
A morning in late June a chill in the breeze
And the rainbow lorikeets chirp on the flowering gum trees
As with their tongues they sip nectar from the pink gum flowers
Amongst leaves rather wet from recent heavy showers.
The sky clouded over and a chill in the wind
And the first month of Winter is close to an end
And old father time he keeps ticking away
And Spring is approaching with each passing day.
poem by Francis Duggan
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In South Gippsland In September
On the fruit trees in the gardens the pinkish blossoms are in bloom
And by the roadside fences yellow flowers are on the broom
And the flute like notes of the magpie have such a melodious ring
In South Gippsland in september in the infancy of Spring.
The weather not too cool or warm it's a near to perfect day
And the nesting gulls are calling on the cliffs above the bay
And the bubbling song of the butcherbird is a joyful thing to hear
In South Gippsland in September it's a pleasant time of year.
The lark above the coastal scrub is carolling as he fly
And upwards he's ascending a small speck in the sky
And hidden in a tuft of grass her eggs warm beneath her breast
In south Gippsland in September his mate sits in her nest.
The pleasant sounds float to me in the freshening coastal breeze
Of crimson rosellas chirping on gum and wattle trees
And the hoarse cacklings of the wattlebirds are familiar sounds to me
In South Gippsland in September where the land meets the sea
poem by Francis Duggan
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On This The Third Day Of Winter
On this the third day of Winter the sun it brightly shine
And the yellow tailed black cockatoos on the monterey pine
Grasp the pine cones with their powerful claws and shred them for the seed
And dropp the shredded cones to earth when they have had their feed.
On this the third day of Winter the white backed magpie sing
From branch high on the stringybark his flute like music ring
And on the lush grasses by the pond the dappled wood duck graze
Whilst others of their kin their feathers preen and in the sunshine laze.
On this the third day of Winter the butcherbird's song I hear
And did I not know what time of year it was I'd swear that Spring was here
Two days back the chilly gales blew fierce and the rain came lashing down
And now the sun is shining bright on the paddocks by the Town.
On this the third day of Winter the sun shines in clear sky
And myna with the scratchy song is singing as he fly
And a few days back it rained all day and the gums soughed in the wind
But as Shakespeare once wrote 'If Winter comes can Spring be far behind'
poem by Francis Duggan
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Amongst The Quiet Of Nature
Amongst the quiet of Nature with wooded hills around
The harsh cawings of the ravens the only living sound
In the nice Winter sunshine it is a pleasant day
From life's many cares and worries a place for to hide away,
Of an Earthly Utopia 'tis not hard to visualize
Where Nature in all of her splendour is beauty to the eyes
I too am part of Nature like all creatures great and small
And memories of Nature's beauty are marvellous memories to recall,
An artist on her canvas would try to capture such a scene
And I enjoy remembering the beauty I have seen
And the unmistakeable sounds of Nature on a sunny Winter's day
Like the clear flute of the magpie on trees not far away
A lovely day in Winter of around eighteen degrees
And in the stony valley there is scarce a puff of breeze.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Beauty Is All Around Me
A walk in the garden of Nature and for it such a beautiful day
And the white backed magpie is fluting on a high branch of an old mountain gray
The scrub wrens in the undergrowth chirping their nest must be somewhere nearby
On this warm morning in September with the sun shining in the clear sky.
A warm day in the wooded hills in September with the slightest hint of a breeze
The crimson rosellas are chirping amongst the gum and wattle trees
And kookaburras at their border calling their voices one cannot mistake
One of the first heard in the woodland they even call before daybreak.
The Asian myna not the finest songster is proclaiming his territory
And the red wattlebirds utter their hoarse calls their names from their fleshy jewellery
And the butcherbird pipes in the gully he has his borders to defend
At nesting time he becomes aggressive and his own kind not even his friend.
A warm sunny day in September in a place that to Nature belong
The wooded hill scent of flowers and blossoms and resound to the lilt of bird song
The golden billed blackbird is piping amongst the leafy greenery
And I have good cause to be happy for beauty is all around me.
poem by Francis Duggan
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On A Moonlit Night In July
A full moon does silently creep it's way across the starlit sky
And the flute of the magpie I hear on this cool Winter night in July
He does not sing for the love of song he sings to defend territory
Whilst most others birds are asleep he pipes high on a wattle tree
With a wife and a nest to defend in his nesting time of the year
He pipes a warning to males of his kind that to us sounds melodious and clear,
The spur wing plovers in the park above their nesting grounds do fly
They scream at the dog, fox or cat who to their ground nest is prowling nearby
In the calm of a Winter night of such beauty a Nature Poet would write
A poem that lovers of Nature poetry would read and to others feel glad to recite
On a gum tree a brush tail possum calls for a mate his hoarse voice one cannot mistake
He will be in the dark ceiling of a nearby house before the sun rise at daybreak
And the boobook owl calls out mopoke a night predator of human kind shy
The nocturnal creatures out and about on a moonlit night in July.
poem by Francis Duggan
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A Pleasant Day For July
In the cool sun of mid Winter a gentle northern breeze
Is whispering in the parkland on the gum and wattle trees
The leaves are quietly stirring as the branches gently sway
And the sparrows are chirping on a pleasant Winter's day.
Going by the weather forecast heavy rain is on the way
The calm before the storm as some are known to say
But we won't be complaining as we do need lots of rain
To add to the Town reservoir and bring life to the creek and drain.
A pleasant day for July in the Southern Winter of the year
The sweet flute of the magpie is a joyful thing to hear
The blackbirds in the garden gathering material for their nest
And Spring is not that distant the Season many love best.
A pleasant day for July with just a slight chill in the air
And even in the southern Winter days such as this are rare
The first of September the calendar Spring's first day
In time does not seem distant barely six weeks away.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Winter Rainy Day
It is still raining
It is pouring rain
It is chilly and windy
It is winter day
The thick dark clouds
hanging over the sky
The gloom fills the air
You hear the humming sound
of falling rain
It is winter day
The sun behind the clouds
have shied and disappeared
The blue sky have been
painted gray
It is winter day
Winter is magical time of the year
When nature sheds it’s tears
Filling us with emotions
Bringing water
to the land and lakes
Just a reason we thank
The winter rainy day
poem by Sherif Monem
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A Rainy Day In Early June
The gray sky clouded over the rain is drizzling down
And the golf course is deserted by the river near the town
An early June day in early Winter in the Southern Hemisphere
The sun in the rain clouds hidden it is that time of year
From once you hear him singing his voice with you remain
The magpie he is piping in defiance of the rain
The gray and brown red wattlebird with a hoarseness in his cry
Is calling on a flowering gum that drips of rain nearby
To the vast expanse of dark water that crawls slowly to the sea
And in the calm dampness of the drizzling rain come the song of the pee wee
On this rainy day in early Winter it seems a long way from the Spring
When most of Nature's wildborn birds will build their nests and chirp and sing.
poem by Francis Duggan
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October In Kalorama
Those giant mountain ash trees they seem to touch the sky
And the white sulphur crested cockies squawking as from tree to tree they fly
A pleasant Spring day in October of around 20 degrees
And warmth in the sunshine and in the gentle breeze.
Down in the wooded gully the whip bird's call resound
The loud whip like cracking echo of his voice can be heard for acres around
In Spring in Kalorama such a lovely time of year
The soft pipings of the crimson rosellas such a lovely sound to hear.
Perhaps the largest non fishing kingfisher that one could wish to see
The harsh calls of the kookaburra echo in their territory
It is their breeding Season and with their young to defend
To their own family members only kookaburras are a friend.
October in Kalorama and the wood birds are in song
And there can be no mistaking the voice of the pied currawong
A high of twenty five degrees the weather forecaster say
And in the Yarra Ranges it is a lovely day.
poem by Francis Duggan
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For July A Rare Sunny Day
For July a rare sunny day
The sun peep through the clouds of gray
And the nest building magpie does sing
Five weeks from the first day of Spring.
Tiny frogs sing in the watery drain
Swollen by recent heavy rain
And the song of the blackbird I hear
Familiar, melodious and clear.
Late Winter a nice time of year
One knows that the Spring it is near
The birds know it is time to breed
And the call of Nature they do heed.
Mild sunshine with a gentle breeze
And magpies piping on the gum trees
And the magpie larks calling pee wee
In the sunlit park by the sea.
The sun shining in the gray sky
Such a pleasant day for July
The birds sense the coming of Spring
Nature is such an amazing thing.
poem by Francis Duggan
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The Beautiful Camellias
The camellias bloom in Winter when the skies are cold and gray
When the sun shines at it's weakest and the Spring seems far away
Each tree an individual by the shade of flowers they bear
An avenue of camellias of one shade of flowers more often than not rare.
In shades of pink and creams and reds the colours one might name
Each is an individual for no two look the same
The beautiful camellias resplendent in their flowers
They bloom in lawn and garden on Winter's coldest hours.
In late fall in Victoria in the Southern Hemisphere
The flower buds on camellia tell Winter days are near
And before the wattles come to bloom towards the end of July
The flowers on the camellia tree lose their petals and die.
The beautiful camellias bloom in the cold winter showers
And long before the southern spring they will have lost their flowers
And on June's coldest and wettest day great beauty I can see
A mass of pink flowers blooming on the green camellia tree.
poem by Francis Duggan
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A Pleasant Day In Gippsland In July
The breeding frogs in the shallow pools are croaking
But they fall silent as near you walk by
Elusive creatures their secrets of survival
Is that they are small and hard to see and shy.
The day is pleasant if a little chilly
Even though the sun is shining in the sky
Still one could easily find a climate more unpleasant
Than South Gippsland in mid Winter in July.
A time of year when growth is all but dormant
Yet every day is one day nearer Spring
And even in the pale weak Winter sunlight
The magpie on a gum tree briefly sing.
It is a pleasant day to walk in Nature
White fronted chats from ground to fence line fly
On Winter months in small flocks they assemble
In rank coastal paddocks where the ground is dry.
On pleasant days in Gippsland in the winter
There's things of natural beauty for to see
And it is nice to walk the gravelly pathway
When the yellow blooms are on the wattle tree.
South Gippsland in Victoria in mid winter
A pleasant day with a slight freshening breeze
And it's not warm although the sun is shining
And the temperatures around fourteen degrees.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Doongalla
From recent rains the woodland path was greasy up along the wooded hill
And the freshening winds of mid afternoon blew with a wintery chill
And in Doongalla east of Melbourne the white cockies did call
In that quiet old mountain woodland where the stringybarks stand tall.
When I last was in Doongalla six or seven years ago
Across the wooded hillside the wintery winds did blow
And the currawongs were calling as through the woodland they did fly
And from memory I remember that too was in July.
The laugh like calls of the kookaburra in Doongalla's woodland ring
And around his invisible borders the grey shrike thrush whistle and sing
And the pleasant fluting of the beautiful crimson rosellas sweet music to the ear
In the woodlands east of Melbourne them one can see and hear
The chilly winds of the high country blow across the wintery sky
And the yellow robin is chirping on the sixth day of July
And the majestic stringybark gums touch the low lying clouds 'twould seem
In Doongalla by the Basin where Mother Nature reign supreme.
poem by Francis Duggan
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On Hearing A Grey Shrike Thrush
The grey shrike thrush on branch of mountain gray
At twilight of a most Unspring like day
On October eve made damp by drizzling rain
And grey bird sing his same song o'er again
And freshening wind has breath of winter sting
Seems more like Winter now than middle Spring
And wind driven rain fall from the darkening sky
And still the gray thrush pipes his notes of joy.
I wonder why he sing so merrily
On low down branch of noble gray gum tree
Could it be that he can tell from inner eye
That tomorrow's weather will be warm and dry? .
Or could he sing that in some nearby tree
His wife on nest shelter new family
And he tell his neighbours this my territory
And I'm now a dad 'oh lucky happy me'? .
And why he sing should it matter anyway
His song at close of wet October day
The weather dreary for the time of year
But grey thrush's notes sweet music to the ear.
poem by Francis Duggan
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On Hearing A Grey Shrike Thrush Singing In The Rain
The grey thrush sing on branch of mountain gray
At twilight of a most Unspring like day
On October evening made damp by drizzling rain
And grey bird sing his same song o'er again.
And freshening wind has breath of winter sting
Seems more like Winter now than middle Spring
And wind driven rain fall from the darkening sky
And still the grey thrush pipes his notes of joy.
I wonder why he sing so merrily
On low down branch of noble gray gum tree
Could it be that he can tell from inner eye
That tomorrow's weather will be warm and dry?
Or could he sing that in some nearby tree
His wife on nest shelter new family?
And he tell his neighbours this my territory
And I'm now a dad 'oh lucky happy me'.
And why he sing should it matter anyway
His song at close of wet October day?
The weather dreary for the time of year
But grey thrush's notes sweet music to my ears.
poem by Francis Duggan
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It Is A Warm Day For September
It is a warm day for September around the 25 degrees
The nesting birds chirping and singing with only a very faint breeze
The Goddess of Spring in her glory the pittosporums in their grey flowers
The paddocks looking lush and greener as a result of the early Spring showers
On a blackwood tree the grey shrike thrush is whistling his voice so melodious and clear
And wildflowers bloom in woods and in paddocks Spring is such a nice time of year
A very warm day for September the sun shining in the clear sky
In the wooded park by the mountain the rosellas chirp as they fly
Such beautiful parrots to look at of mottled brown and bright crimson and blue
Better known as crimson rosellas to their given names they are true
The white backed magpies and blackbirds are piping it is such a beautiful day
And the first butterflies of the Season with brown spots on their wings white to gray
Are flying in the sunlit parkland around the blossoming trees
On this warm day for September of a high of 25 degrees.
poem by Francis Duggan
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