On The Fourth Day Of March
The pleasant aroma of the peppercorn trees
That come wafting to me in the evening breeze
And on the nearby pond the shy moorhen call
On the fourth day of March and the southern Fall.
A white backed magpie pipes on a nearby gum tree
A bird one so often does hear and does see
And though early Autumn the deciduous trees in the park of the town
Their leaves still quite green and not showing any brown.
The weather quite cool compared to yesterday
But the temperatures perfect for me anyway
Today a cool high of twenty two degrees
From the recent warm weather we do need some ease.
The brown and bare paddocks could do with some rain
And the farmers are feeling the financial strain
Of months of dry weather they feel burdened by care
And their financial cross for them heavy to bear.
There is not one rain cloud in the clear blue sky
And the thistledown flying in the breeze through the sky
And the dark moorhen call in the brown pond nearby
And the paddocks are looking so bare, brown and dry.
poem by Francis Duggan
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The Thunder Cracks In The Gray Sky
The thunder cracks in the gray sky and the rain it is bucketing down
Above the high and dry and bare paddocks by the river that flows by the town
On those paddocks that need heaps of rain it has been awhile since they were green
This countryside is looking dry 'tis as dry as it ever has been
His feathers soaked wet from the rain the magpie flutes on the blackwood tree
From it's drenched leaves the rain drips and drips by the river that flows to the sea
To the river adown the bare hill the water in rivulets run
As soon as the rain will have stopped they will quickly dry out in the sun
The Summer has been warm and dry and the long range weather forecast is for a dry Fall
An hour of heavy thunder rain of little use though better than nothing at all
For months the farmers have been praying for rain their prayers in part answered today
But the sun shines across the brown hills and the rain clouds are clearing away
And the magpie shakes his feathers dry and no rain drops left to drip from the trees
And white butterflies flitting about in the sunshine and feshening breeze.
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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I Feel Lucky To Live In This Country
We did have some showers in the morning though it was quite welcome the rain
And the day it has turned out quite windy and the sun is out shining again
For mid Fall it is such good weather the butterflies dance in the breeze
And the temperatures so very pleasant a tad over twenty degrees.
I have every cause to feel happy on this rather beautiful day
The butcherbird the familiar fellow in his cloak of dark brown and gray
His bubbling notes he is piping on high branch of the blackwood tree
Though nesting Season for him over and no need to defend territory.
I feel lucky to live in this Country in this warm and balmy Land of the South
When darkness it cloaks the woodland one hear the soft call of the frogmouth
A beautiful place for to live in where the coldest of weather is not cold
But oh how the time ticks on quickly and even the young are growing old.
For April it is splendid weather the wind gently soughing in the trees
And butterflies dance in the sunshine in this Land of the Southern seas
I feel lucky to live in this Country this weather for all to enjoy
The magpie he pipes in the sunshine and so very happy am I.
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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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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From Early To Mid Spring
The weather changeable from early to mid Spring
But so nice to hear the nesting songbirds sing
In the town park in the gray dawn of the day
Song in their breeding season to defend territory a huge part seems to play
Yesterday we had some heavy showers of rain
But today the sun shines in the sky again
The cooler weather of the Winter all but gone
And the days will become warmer as the Spring goes on
The parks and paddocks looking lush and green
And Nature at her very finest seen
In early Spring the white backed magpie he pipes day and night
And the blackbird can be heard at dawn's first light
And magpie larks build their cup shaped nest on branch of tree
And all day long sing out pee wee pee wee.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Out There In The Wide Country
Out there in the wide country like a small speck in the sky
The small brown skylark is carolling as upwards he does fly
On a warm day in October with a beautiful Spring breeze
With temperatures near perfect around 23 degrees,
October in Victoria in the woodland all the day
The gray shrike thrush is whistling in his cloak of brown and gray
And the white backed magpie is fluting upon the gray gum tree
And the magpie lark is singing pee wee pee wee pee wee
And the kookaburras laughter is ringing loud and clear
Out there in the wide country them one so often hear,
Out there in the wide country the wildflowers are in bloom
And the woods and paddocks scenting of Nature's sweet perfume
And the temperature is perfect days such as this are rare
And the nesting birds are singing and Spring is in the air.
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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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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It Is So Warm For Early In December
It is so warm for early in December the birds are panting and scarce a puff of breeze
And the tar is boiling on the sunlit roadway in temperatures of over thirty degrees
How come it's so warm this early on in Summer? we hear the scientists talk of the ozone hole
If this be true we have influenced the weather and the temperatures not beyond our control.
Some scientists claim it's due to man's pollution that we experience the weather extremes
The water now is down to a slow trickle in the polluted rivers, creeks and streams
Three weeks ago the low lying paddocks flooded the changes a few warm weeks can bring
And the farmers they are praying for rain already although we've had big rainfalls through the Spring
Each year the Summer temperatures keep rising and the warm weather goes into late Fall
And despite the first week of heavy rains the weather bureau
claim it's been the warmest November of them all
'Twould seem the coastal towns will do well for Christmas and traffic jams on the highway to the sea
And New Year's day will find them by the ocean the working man and his wife and family.
It is so warm for early in December and Summer days have only just begun
And people already wearing their sun hats and sun screens to keep away the cruel rays of the sun
And some scientists claim that the extremes of weather is or was never beyond our control
And that modern man who creates much pollution is responsible for the big ozone hole.
poem by Francis Duggan
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It's Raining In Wonthaggi
On the gum tree in the garden white backed magpie flutes his song
But it's raining in Wonthaggi and the wind is blowing strong
Two days back it was so balmy around twenty five degrees
It was perfect Summer weather with the faintest cooling breeze.
In south Gippsland's changing weather it can change from day to day
And the old timers who live here say it's always been this way
And when it's raining in Wonthaggi there's a strong wind from the sea
And on such inclememt weather indoors is the place to be.
And the magpie he keeps singing I can see him through the pane
And for some strange sort of reason he seems happy in the rain
Though birds sing their best and sweetest on their breeding days in Spring
On wet and changing weather you can also hear them sing.
It is windy in Wonthaggi and the rain is pouring down
And storm water drains are flooded all around the country Town
But the magpie seems quite happy he feels moved to melody
And he celebrate the downpour on high branch of old gum tree.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Victoria's Weather
On fifth day of September five days into the Spring
The currawongs the birds of rain on the high gum trees sing
And weather back to Winter change and chill the breezes blow
And it's been hailing all the day and cold enough to snow.
In latter days of Winter the weather nice and fine
And morning paddocks gray with frost that melted in sunshine
And temperatures rose through the day to near twenty degrees
And warmth in the sunshine and warmth in the breeze.
Victoria's weather changes quick it's always been that way
And a heavy shower of cold Spring hail has left the garden gray
A high of five a low of two that's what the forecast say
In the only place that you will get four Seasons in one day.
The currawongs the birds of rain sing on the tall gum trees
On this the coldest day of Spring it's only five degrees
And through the wood on Selby hill the chilly breezes blow
And it's been hailing all the day and cold enough to snow.
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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In The Wide Brown Country
To the wide brown country the Seasons come and go
South in South Australia where the Murray flow
Through the wide brown country where the brown dust fly
When the gales are rushing down the southern sky.
In the wide brown country woods not there to see
Where the mighty Murray crawls on towards the sea
Through the bone dry paddocks that are never green
Mother Nature in this landscape in her brown only seen.
Where the black tribes fished and hunted centuries ago
Little of their culture others seem to know
Through the wide brown country they travelled far and wide
And theirs was a great culture but their culture with them died.
In the wide brown country wildering flowers are rare
And the sun parched paddocks always looking bare
And where only the hardiest can hope to survive
Emu, wombat and wallaby and grey roo seem to thrive.
In the wide brown country where the Murray flow
Onwards towards the ocean onwards ever slow
And the grass is growing brown even where the rains have been
In that brown old country that man has failed to green.
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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A Cold Winter's Day
The weather cold and overcast in the middle of July
And cold jack frost blows with his chilly breath across the Winter sky
And in Kyneton, Trentham and Daylesford they have had a fall of snow
And the temperatures at zero and the weather glass is low
From Spring through Summer to late Fall the weather warm and dry
And for days on end the sun was burning in the clear blue sky
But the rain and snow is needed now and people pray for more
For the paddocks at this time of year never dry as this before
Yet today I saw a magpie despite the Wintery chill
Fly from the ground to a tall gum tree with a twig in his bill
For to build a nest an early sign of the approach of Spring
Of late in the darkness of the night I hear his kin bird sing
In parts of Central Victoria it is snowing, cattle bellowing for hay
And the cold breath of jack frost in the wind it has been a chilly day.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Near Castlemaine
The Winter mostly cold and dry
And little rainfall in July
And not much water in the creek and drain
By the old Town of Castlemaine.
In central Victoria a Colonial Town
Of 'The Wild Colonial Boy' renown
One of a dubious sort of fame
A ballad glorifies his name.
The chill of Winter in the air
And in the paddocks brown and bare
The cattle bellowing for hay
Close to their feed barrier they stay.
The magpie's flute is ringing clear
Always a pleasant thing to hear
They build their nest of sticks as Spring draws near
Before blossoms on the fruit trees appear
In Castlemaine on a Winter's day
The sun doesn't shine through clouds of gray
Yet little water in the creek and drain
And the bone dry paddocks thirst for rain.
poem by Francis Duggan
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In The South Western Grampians
In the South Western Grampians of Victoria the Summer hills are brown
And from Casterton to Hamilton the roadway winds up and down
The creeks are barely flowing the roadside drains are dry
And the sun is brightly shining in the clear afternoon sky.
In the South Western Grampians the weather mostly fine
And many days of warm weather and beautiful sun shine
An undulating Countryside and hardly any green
With so few groves and woodlands and few trees to be seen.
Through the South Western Grampians one may travel far and wide
But one won't see many houses in that brown old Countryside
A farming population and few people one see
In the South Western Grampians far Inland from the sea.
On the hills of the South Western Grampians there once were many trees
Where the Indigenous tribes in the Dreamtime lived and had their Coroborees
But now open to the weather those old hills look brown and bare
And the only sound the buzzing of the bush flies in the warm Summer air.
poem by Francis Duggan
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The Day For November Quite Warm
The day for November quite warm with only the faintest sign of breeze
And starlings from the trees to the garden railings flying and flying back again to the trees
The weather temperature in the high twenties from 27 to 29 degrees
And in the shade of the gum in the paddock the cow sits and chews her cud at ease.
White butterflies out in the sunshine they do not like the wind and the rain
Why they like the calm sunny weather do not ask me since I cannot explain
Anything of the workings of Nature of Nature's ways so little I know
Of Nature's ways I know as much now as I did five decades ago.
The poets love Spring for Nature's greenery her beauty them always inspire
In their words they always laud the Earth Mother of singing her praises they never do tire
And the artists try to capture some of nature's beauty on their canvas the flora and fauna of the woods and the hills and sea shore
I know of so many fine artists in fact there has never been more.
The day for November quite warm even warm for the time of year
And on the wattle tree in the garden the song of the blackbird I hear
'Tis said when birds sing in warm sunshine that rain cannot be far away
The radio weather forecaster says the weather is changing with thunder showers later today.
poem by Francis Duggan
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It Is Such A Beautiful Evening
Than Spring it is far more like Summer a summery warmth in the breeze
And sunshine on the old Town and Parkland and sunshine on the bushes and trees
The greeness of Spring all around me such beauty that cannot fail to please
The weather quite warm for September well over the twenty degrees.
Though early Spring few birds are singing in the warm sun of the day
They sing in the cool of the morning or in the twilight's fading gray
The Winter is finally over though Winter weather was far from severe
We may be due for an el nino a warm Spring is looming this year.
The heaths and prickly bushes are covered in their blue, pink and bright yellow flowers
They came to bloom in the late Winter in the cool and invigorating showers
The pardalotes by their nest entrance in a tiny hole in the ground
Wee wren sized birds spotted and pretty where they live small insects abound.
It is such a beautiful evening the swallows they chirp as they fly
And the sun with the warmth of Summer is glowing brightly in the blue sky
And the first brown butterflies of September are flitting in the balmy air
Alone and contented with Nature such moments are precious and rare.
poem by Francis Duggan
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