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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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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The Gippsland Hills
The hills of Gippsland were so green but that was in September
And songbirds piping happy songs as well I might remember
But now the Gippsland hills are gray since sun changed the grass colour
And though the sun shines hot today this countryside looks duller.
The Gippsland hills were green in Spring and grass growing winds were blowing
And all along the sunlit hills the wildering flowers were showing
And bell magpie piped his joyful notes and butcherbird was singing
And through those hills those happy hills the bushlark's voice went ringing.
The Gippsland hills the sunburnt hills grown lonelier and quieter
And like the shades of old man's hair they've turned a gray type whiter
The nearby creek in trickle flow, the birds have lost their voices
And not one of Nature's minstrels now on Gippsland hills rejoices.
The Gippsland hills the sunburnt hills have lost their Spring like colour
And though the sun shines hot today the Gippsland hills look duller
But Spring bring green to Gippsland hills Spring rains and soft winds blowing
And birds will sing on Gippsland hills and Gippsland creeks fast flowing.
poem by Francis Duggan
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The Return Of The Curlews
At Mcloughlins beach in the Spring of the year
The beautiful flute of the curlews one hear
The eastern curlews they sing as they fly
Their music echo through Gippsland's coastal sky
From the colder northlands they journey on down
Above coastal City and Village and Town
Above beaches and foreshores in September they reach
The mudflats on the foreshore of Mcloughlins beach,
In fancy i can hear them fluting today
Above the white mudflats from here far away
The wild voice of Nature is a beautiful thing
The eastern curlews how lovely they sing
Their unmistakeable song in my memory remain
And in fancy i visit South Gippsland again.
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 The Second Week Of January
On the second week of January I hear the shrike thrush sing
His flute like notes so pleasant to them have a familiar ring
And Spring is but a memory and Summer near her prime
And that birds sing out of Season happens all of the time.
The piping of the white backed magpie his is a familiar song
By their songs Nature's feathered minstrels one cannot get them wrong
A pleasant Summer's morning 'twill make a pleasant day
And the paddocks of Wonthaggi scent sweetly of baled hay.
In a clearing I am standing surrounded by scrub trees
In such places the Aboriginal dancers had their Corroborees
They danced on Summer evenings before the sun went down
Long before there was a Gippsland or a Wonthaggi Town.
A morning on the second week of January with a warm summery breeze
And a forecast high for the afternoon of 25 degrees
One might say perfect weather for the time of year
North in New South Wales and Queensland 'tis warmer by far than here.
On the second week of January the weather warm and dry
And a goldfinch he is singing on a wattle tree nearby
And brown butterflies are dancing in the sunny morning sky
And Mother Nature's natural beauty is for all to enjoy.
poem by Francis Duggan
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In The Prime Of September
The paddocks looking yellow where the capeweed does bloom
And bright golden flowers on the gorse and the broom
And the flute of the shrike thrush is pleasant to hear
In the prime of September in the Spring of the year
At this time of year the musical magpies they sing day and night
How pleasant to hear them piping in the moonlight
And blackbird by his voice you cannot get wrong
He welcomes the dawn of the day with a song
Frisky lambs in the paddocks are frolicking about
When the Goddess of Spring is in the Land of the south
The laughter of the kookaburra the call of the weerloo
The big dark brown bird better known as yellow tail black cockatoo
Fruit bearing trees in blossom and nesting birds sing
In the prime of September in the southern Spring.
poem by Francis Duggan
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South Gippsland In April
The leaves on the deciduous trees are turning brown
Yet in the Parks and gardens of Wonthaggi Town
The mynas are singing their songs tell of rain
And the frogs they are calling in the roadside drain.
Though into mid April and the Winter quite near
The weather quite warm for the time of year
On the beach at Cape Paterson the sun lovers lay
It may rain tomorrow but the sun shines today.
Only six weeks left of Autumn the time ticking on
And quite Summery weather though Summer is long gone
The old coastal hills overlooking the sea shore
Have seldom looked this dry or this brown before.
South Gippsland in April a fresh coastal breeze
In the woodland is soughing in the sunlit trees
Utopia on Earth the South Gippslanders say
That from where they live Heaven is not far away.
The birds in the Parkland they whistle and sing
It is more like weather in Summer or late Spring
The sun shining brightly but those brown hills nearby
A few hours of rain now would surely enjoy.
poem by Francis Duggan
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An August Day In South West Gippsland
The weather rather chilly it is cold enough to snow
And the flat paddocks under water where the Powlett river overflow
And even in the distance one can hear the ocean roar
As the tide up the beach races and splash on rocks along the shore.
Yet the magpie he is fluting on this gray August day
He and his wife are nest building Spring cannot be far away
And though rain is in the forecast and in the freshening breeze
The wattlebirds are cackling on the flowering banksia trees.
Between Dalyston and Kilcunda flooded paddocks all around
And sheep and cattle from the flooding have moved to the higher ground
And though the weather not that pleasant Spring with every day draws near
And September is so lovely in the Southern Hemisphere.
An August day in South West Gippsland the air has a wintery chill
And a flooded Powlett river it flows bank high down the hill
And though the sky looks gray and gloomy and the rain in drizzle fall
The magpie he is singing and the spur winged plover call.
poem by Francis Duggan
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A Windy Day In Early September
The wind keeps the air that bit cooler today it is sixteen degrees
And beautiful pink fluffy blossoms adorn the flowering gum trees
And wattlebirds sing in the sunshine though not very pleasant their song
Their hoarse call is very distinctive once heard you cannot get it wrong.
A windy day in early September in changeable weather of Spring
The white backed magpie the marvellous songster in his territory he sing
At breeding time he is aggressive his own kind not even his friend
And he's been known to attack humans with his wife and his young to defend.
A windy day in early september dark rain clouds tell rain is quite near
And the sun that had briefly been hiding between a break in the clouds re-appear
In one day you can get four Seasons 'tis like that at this time of year
But in early days of September you know that warm weather will shortly be here.
A windy day in early September and rain is beginning to fall
And on the flowering gums and wattles the wattlebirds chatter and call
But gone is the coldness of Winter and fruit trees wear pinkish white flowers
And everywhere looks fresh and greener in the sunshine after the showers.
poem by Francis Duggan
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A Lovely Day In September
The nesting songbirds are singing on the sunlit bushes and trees
On this warm day in September of close to thirty degrees
The cows in the nearby paddock sit and chew their cuds at ease
And there is a pleasant freshness in the freshening coastal breeze
For the second week of the Spring a very warm day
The fruit bearing trees looking beautiful in their blooms of pink and gray
The poets and the artists by such beauty feel inspired
Of singing Nature's praises one never could feel tired
After the heavy rainfalls of late Winter the paddocks are looking green
And wildflowers known to some as weeds in plenty to be seen
Dragon flies out in swarms in the bright sunshine fly
And the dark winged welcome swallows are chirping in the sky
A lovely day in September close to thirty degrees
Songbirds sing in the sunshine in the freshening coastal breeze.
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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In Inverloch In January
On the slated roof of the public toilet the silver gulls bask in the sun
And children in the sea side park are playing games and having fun
And the wattlebirds are calling on a flowering melaleuca tree
In Inverloch in South Gippsland the old village by the sea.
For those in the catering trade at Inverloch 'tis a busy time of year
The fish and chips and pizza shops at their busiest and the publican sells lots of beer
From the Melbourne eastern suburbs in January for the after Christmas holidays they throng
To Inverloch to camp for a few weeks where they party all night long.
Yet despite the presence of many human beings it is a common sight
To see beautiful eastern rosellas and galahs in the park in the sunlight
And to hear the migrant lories chirping on the coastal trees
And the white backed magpie piping in the freshening evening breeze.
In Inverloch in January when the Summer's in her prime
For the caterers and traders there it is a busy time
And on the spacious beaches many sun bake and families beach cricket play
And children with their parents in the shallows swim and enjoy their holiday.
poem by Francis Duggan
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On A Morning In Late September
Above the sunlit paddock just like a small speck in the sky
The little brown skylark is carolling as up to the high clouds he fly
On a beautiful morning in September approaching the prime of the Spring
On bushes and trees all around me the nesting birds whistle and sing.
Each species of bird distinctive by their voice Nature is a marvellous thing
The skylark to proclaim his borders is obliged to take to the wing
In a tussock of grass quite well hidden her eggs kept warm by the heat of her breast
Incubating the next generation his partner she sits in her nest.
A small mob of kangaroos hop through the paddock to the scrub dotted with trees nearby
Away from prying eyes they feel safer their privacy they too enjoy
They stay in cover till twilight and as night fall nears they venture out
And under the cover of darkness they feed and go on hop about.
On a morning in late September the lark o'er the paddock in song
Even by his voice he is distinctive a bird one can never get wrong
And kangaroos hopping to cover they are not often seen by day
Amongst the scrub surrounded by gums and wattles hidden from prying eyes in safety they lay.
poem by Francis Duggan
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The Sun Is Out And Shining
The sun is out and shining and there's warmth in the breeze
And the weather rather pleasant around 21 degrees
And pink blossoms on the fruit trees and the wild birds chirp and sing
on this the first day of September and of the calendar Spring.
The poetess is out walking and a song is in her head
And she will write a poem this evening before she goes to bed
Her dedication to September her favourite month of the year
When Spring spreads her green beauty in the Southern Hemisphere.
The lovely golden whistler his song one can't mistake
In backyard on the mirror bush he whistled at daybreak
I'd like to think he piped for Spring though naturalists tell me
That the only reason birds sing is to defend their territory.
The sun is out and shining and Spring is in the air
And blossoms on the fruit trees and parks and gardens wear
Their green cloaks of September and there's warmth in the breeze
And the weather temperatures quite pleasant around 21 degrees.
poem by Francis Duggan
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It Is So Good To Be Outdoors
On a sunny day like this day tis just great to be alive
Just to walk out in the sunshine or to go off on a drive
To the mountain or the coastal town or to the park nearby
It is nice for to be outdoors when the sun is in the sky
A sunny day in September of around 20 degrees
And the scents of flowers and blossoms wafting in the freshening breeze
And the young lambs in the paddocks around their mothers play
It is good for to be outdoors on a warm day like today,
The familiar song of the blackbird a feathered minstrel of the Spring
And the honeyeaters chirping and the shrike thrush pipe and sing
And October days are looming and September all but gone
And the Spring is passing quickly and father time keeps ticking on
And the welcome swallows chirping they are so graceful in flight
It is so good to be outdoors in the September sunlight.
poem by Francis Duggan
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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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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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A Winter Morning In Gippsland
The wattle wears her cloak of flowers so lovely bright and yellow
But in the paddocks there's no grass and for hay the cattle bellow
It has been frosty over night and the ground with frost is hoary
And the only beauty I can see is the wattle in her glory.
The farmer says too cold and dry as dry as he remember
The Spring will come in late this year and no grass in September
The hereford cow hunched with the cold and she as tough as leather
For two months it's been cold and dry we need a change of weather.
The trainer on the trotting track watch his trotters exercising
And near ten o clock the sun comes out and the temperature starts rising
And across the paddock's uneven ground the old farm tractor rattle
As the farmer brings big bale of hay to feed his hungry cattle.
A Winter morning in Gippsland and for hay the cattle bellow
And the wattle wears her cloak of flowers so lovely, bright and yellow
And the farmer says too cold and dry as dry as he remember
And we need a week or two of rain for grass growth in September.
poem by Francis Duggan
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A Wet Day In July
Such wild and chilly weather with heavy showers of sleety rain
That flood the spouting and the creek and the storm water drain
And the paddocks around the Powlett river seem like an inland sea
And water everywhere about as far as the eyes can see.
The old bloke Mick scratches his head as he looks up at the sky
Saying more rain clouds o'er the ocean 'twill make a wet
July
On either side of the highway from Bass into Wonthaggi there's water everywhere
The paddock by our house is waterlogged 'tis like a quagmire there.
In July in south west Gippsland the weather often wild and cold and wet
But according to Mick from Bass this one the wettest yet
In more than sixty years of life he has known big rainfall
But yesterday is the wettest day he ever can recall.
In the paddocks between Kilcunda and Dalyston water everywhere about
And the Powlett river is overflowing it's banks and it's surplus water is flooding out
Making the land look like an inland sea and cattle on the hill bellow for hay
And in the coastal lands of south west Gippsland another rainy July day.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Port Albert
The silver gulls mewing in the Village, the fishing boats moored to the pier
The gentle waves break at the jetty in fancy these scenes to me near
The last time I was in Port Albert the black and white bird known as pee wee
He piped in the afternoon sunshine on a flowering pittosporum tree.
Port Albert in Southern Gippsland doesn't change with the passing of time
A fishing Village by salt water the bards by it inspired to rhyme
The artists have captured it's beauty on canvas for to hang on the gallery wall
And all of those who have paid it a visit the memory feel glad to recall
The last time I was in Port Albert in September in early Spring
On a day of bird song and sunshine that memory to me seem to cling
A warm wind blew in from the ocean it was such a marvellous day
A gift from the Goddess of Nature to me for to carry away
From the fishing Village of Port Albert that developers yet have to find
The Utopia of Southern Gippsland are words for it that spring to mind
In the old cafe in the Village we enjoyed cappucino and cake
And I will re-visit Port Albert if only just for old time sake.
The silver gulls mewing on the jetty, the sun shining bright in the sky
As we drove on out of the Village this time it would not be goodbye
For I will return in September in the early days of the Spring
When magpie will pipe on the gum tree and blackbird will whistle and sing
poem by Francis Duggan
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