Where The Wannon Waters Flow
To the flat and old brown Countryside the Seasons come and go
But she lives far so very far from where the Wannon waters flow
Through places to her familiar on it's journey to the sea
Through a Land that was even old in the Dreamtime of an ancient history.
Through the busy streets of London cars and trucks buzz up and down
And she now lives far so very far north of Hamilton Town
She left the Southern Grampians Shire some seven years ago
And her journeys have taken her far from where the Wannon waters flow.
Now in her twenty seventh year one can say in her life's prime
And seven years go quickly when one looks back in time
But to her parents home near Hamilton she will return next Spring
When the magpie flutes his finest and the grey shrike thrush does sing
On the gum trees by her old home at the dawning of the day
In the far southern Countryside from London far away
When the wild bush flowers are blooming and in the moonlit sky
The breeding spur wing plovers utter their territorial cry.
poem by Francis Duggan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Related quotes
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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
MaCarthur
Between Hamilton and Port Fairy in a scenic Countryside
Where on a bright and a sunny day one can see for far and wide
Is the Township of MaCarthur it is a quiet old place
But if you are a local there your's is a well known face
It seems more like a Village than a quiet old Country Town
And on the Hamilton - Port Fairy roadway few cars pass up and down
Surrounded by farming country and the people who live there
Must consider themselves lucky since they breathe clean country air
Just nine kilometres from Mt Eccles where marsupials abound
Where koalas, grey kangaroos and wallabies in large numbers are to be found
In MaCarthur in Victoria in the Springtime of the year
The grey shrike thrush and the magpie are birds one does often hear
And in the roadside paddocks in their earth stained feathers of white
The long billed corellas digging for their food are a fairly common sight.
poem by Francis Duggan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Into The Last Month Of Winter
Into the last month of Winter and the wattles cloaked in yellow flowers in bloom
And pink flowers on the camellias and yellow flowers on the broom
And all through the night the white backed magpies sing
On the third week of August coming up to the Spring
On the third week of August in the Southern Hemisphere
One does have a sense that Spring is quite near
The paddocks and parklands are looking quite green
And fragile pink flowers on the fruit trees are seen
Into the third week of August and birds sing in the rain
And all through the night frogs sing in pond and drain
And in the calm of the night in the parkland nearby
The breeding spur wing plovers in their territory cry
And all through the night on the moonlit gum trees
The songs of the magpies carry in the breeze.
poem by Francis Duggan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Donal Hickey
We were in the same classroom in Millstreet Primary school
And Donal was a clever boy he never once sat on the dunce's stool
He still lives in the old home in Inchaleigh though I live far away
From Clara hill near Millstreet Town and the fields of Claraghatlea.
He has worked in the Cork Marts for many years three decades maybe more
And he is well into his fifties now and of years near the three score
A hunting man he knows the countryside for miles around
And he could tell you where the earth of fox or badger would be found.
I last met Donal Hickey almost two decades ago
On a November sunday cold and gray the stream bank high did flow
And Clara with the bracken face he wore a cloak of fog
Out hunting with his terriers in Jack the Master's bog.
One who lives close to Nature and of Nature much he know
On sunday he's out hunting rain, hail, sunshine or snow
He keep the best fox terriers the best for miles around
Brave and fearless little hunters for fox they go to ground.
One of the nicest people that one could wish to meet
He still lives in the old homeplace at Inchaleigh in Millstreet
In that green and fertile countryside where the Finnow waters flow
And we were in the same classroom more than forty years ago.
poem by Francis Duggan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Blackwater In Flood
The Boggeragh hills white in January snow
In ancient Duhallow where the Blackwater flow
Through that old flat countryside by Derrinagree
On it's way through North Cork on it's way to the sea.
The Blackwater in flood it has a mighty roar
As it rumbles along to the Atlantic shore
It floods across the land like a great inland tide
And in water covers the fields of it's banks either side.
The Blackwater in flood is amazing to see
Awe inspiring that's how it did seem to me
As it rages through Dromtarriffe in flood waters of brown
Through the flat countryside on towards old Mallow Town.
The Blackwater in flood it inspires awe and fear
When it bursts it's banks tis not safe to go near
Swollen by heavy rains and the melting of snow
To human or beast mercy it does not show.
Memories of cold January of frost, snow, Wind and rain
And of the Blackwater in flood with me does remain
It submerges the fields like a great inland tide
As it rages it's way through the old countryside.
poem by Francis Duggan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Best Day Of The Year
This morning very early I heard the magpie sing
And suddenly it dawned on me it's the first day of Spring
The dawning of September and on the stringybark
The white backed magpie whistled sweet music in the dark.
The first day of September the best day of the year
That is if you are living in the Southern Hemisphere
For Spring the Season of beauty and of greenery and youth
A time of bloom and grass growth when seedlings take to root
The Spring came in at midnight from places far away
She crept in through the darkness for her annual three months stay
And magpie he woke early on the stringybark tree
And for the welcome visitor piped his sweetest melody.
This morning very early before the dawn of day
The magpie welcomed the visitor from places far away
And the first day of September the best day of the year
That is if you are living in the Southern Hemisphere.
poem by Francis Duggan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
In The Fields By The Sullane
In the fields by the Sullane that flows through Macroom
The wildflowers of Nature are now in full bloom
And the ageing migrant remembers today
The place where he lived in as a boy near a town far away.
His soul mate and the best friend he ever did know
His Aussie wife passed on a few years ago
Their grandchildren teenagers and time ticking on
And his best Seasons to the forever long gone.
To the young mind the far off hills always look green
And he left friends and family when he turned nineteen
The wanderlust in him for the big World out there
From the fields by the Sullane he would live elsewhere
Forty eight years out of Macroom in time quite a span
In this Southern Country a gray haired ageing man
The years telling on him the years never lie
Far from the Sullane he is destined to die.
To this Southern Land his best years he did give
And on his retirement pension he now has to live
The passing of time has left him walking slow
The one from the fields where Sullane waters flow.
poem by Francis Duggan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Hopkins River
Centuries before the black people to this Land came
An unknown Country that did not have a name
The river now known as the Hopkins through the scrublands did flow
And that is going back many centuries ago.
The dinosaurs came at the twilight of the day
For to slake their thirst at the quiet water-way
And though the dinosaurs from the World are forever gone
The old Hopkins river keeps babbling on.
Through the flat brown Countryside to Warrnambool to the sea
The Hopkins has flowed for century on century
Through places dry and stony and places remote
The river has inspired the artist and poet.
For to sketch and sing of it in decades gone by
The river that has never stopped flowing through Summer's warm and dry
And though the artist and poet now with the deceased lay
The Hopkins keeps babbling on night after day.
Through places dry and stony and places remote and brown
On down to the ocean near Warrnambool Town
And the Seasons may come and the Seasons may go
But the old Hopkins river forever will flow.
poem by Francis Duggan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
In Green Old Duhallow From Here Far Away
The fields in their beautiful wildflowers of May
In green old Duhallow from here far away
And nesting birds sing in grove and on hedgerow
In Cullen where Araglen waters do flow
On to the Blackwater en route to the sea
The old river babbles on eternally
Through a Countryside that is as ancient as time
That has inspired poets of the past for to rhyme
About the great beauty around them they had seen
In May when the landscape was looking so green
For May is a beautiful time of the year
In green old Duhallow so far north of here
The wonders of Nature a thing to enjoy
The cock pheasants are cucking in old Lisnaboy
In fancy I am back in the long ago
Just remembering a beauty that I used to know.
Were I a poet of such beauty I would write
White butterflies flitting in the warm sunlight
and cock robin with the sun on his red breast sing
In green old Duhallow in the latter Spring.
In fancy the song of the chaffinch I hear
In green old Duhallow so far north of here
Where the babbling waters of Araglen flow
Through fields to the Blackwater by grove and hedgerow.
poem by Francis Duggan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
London Town
I do believe
I must believe
I think I can begin again
Become again the man I was back when
So Im walking on your streets again
Feeling now as I did then
Ive since become a different man
London town, turn be around
London town, carry me back
O london town, lost and found
And I feel like going back
I can remember lots of time and space
If I lose the name, still I know the faces
Time as come and left its traces
London town, turn be around
London town, carry me back
O london town, lost and found
And I feel like going back
When I grew too old and dull to rock n roll
Like to hold on tight to you darling
And when my fires have all burned out
Id like to think I can still think about
The things I used to sing about
When I was spending all my time alone
By myself and on my own
Seldom seen and quite unknown
London town, turn be around
London town, carry me back
O london town, lost and found
And I feel like going back
song performed by by James Taylor
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Southern Kind Of Life
I grew up along way from here
I slept with the lights on for fifteen years
And Sabbath kept me home on Friday nights
and Daddy sang me Rodgers
just to make everything alright
My town wasn't even on the map
You could pass right through it in twenty seconds flat
But the south was like the whole world to me
it wasn't easy to stay but it was harder to leave
Yeah I was a south bound child
Yeah I had a small town life
But I turned out alright in the north
Livin' that southern kind of life
Old friends and bibles filled the house
no room for money and no money anyhow
deprived was something we always heard
but to me and my brother it was just another word
I use to think the north was the end
Cause people go there and they don't come back again
but my father's father was a man of the sea
He lived a southern life two blocks away from me
Yeah I was a south bound child
Yeah I had a small town life
But I turned out alright in the north
Livin' that southern kind of life
Yeah I was a south bound child
Yeah I had a small town life
But I turned out alright in the north
Livin' that southern kind of life
song performed by by Kasey Chambers from The Captain
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Killarney In Victoria
Killarney in Victoria a place that has a soul
The white waves on the sunlit beach how beautifully they roll
October at it's finest the sunshine in the sky
And the silver gulls are calling as above the waves they fly.
In killarney in Victoria by the Pacific sea
The grey shrike thrush is whistling on a coastal banksia tree
On the second week of October in the prime of the Spring
The rumblings of the ocean near where wild birds chirp and sing.
Killarney in Victoria has a beauty all of it's own
And though I've been to many places tis as fine as I've seen or known
Above the flat green paddocks the skylark is in song
Through Spring and early Summer he carols all day long.
Killarney in Victoria even old in the Dreamtime
Has been sketched by famous artists and has inspired the bards to rhyme
Where the white waves of saltwater roll up the sandy shore
In a place that has been forever and will be forever more.
poem by Francis Duggan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
A September Night In The Countryside
Out there in the quiet countryside in the still of the night
The unmistakeable cry of a hunting fox in the moonlight
And perhaps at the threat of a predator to their ground nest nearby
The wary spur wing plovers are calling as they fly
Like the fox the predatory night birds have young to feed this time of year
And the loud screech of a barn owl not a pleasant sound to hear
And to the boobook calls of mopoke on the nearby trees
The brooding small bird in her nest does listen with a sense of unease
On the quiet rural roadway few cars pass up and down
On a September night in the countryside miles from the nearest town
And the calls of the male ringtail possum one never could mistake
He will be back in his leafy nest before sunrise at daybreak
The predatory birds and animals who hide from the lamp of day
In the still of a September night are out hunting for prey.
poem by Francis Duggan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
I Envy Them Their Love Of Home
Many left the old Town by the river to work and live in Cities far away
From where they went to school and spent their early years and first saw light of day
But some remained in the Homeplace and there worked for lower pay
And credit them for their love of home those who at home did stay.
They sowed their seed in their Hometown their children and grandchildren still live there
Whilst those with the lust of wander in their hearts went off to work and live elsewhere
To the old Town by the river they remain ever true
And credit them for their love of home since credit they are due.
The ancient river by the old Town ever towards the ocean flow
And to the Countryside it babbles though the Seasons come and go
And another generation of young people into young adults have grown
And the stay at home feel quite content with the only life they've known.
When I say I envy them their love of home 'tis not said with tongue in cheek
Compared to theirs my love of the Hometown to say the least seems weak
The wanderlust was in my heart and from the home shore I went to live far away
Though home is where the heart is you hear some people say.
poem by Francis Duggan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Ancient Hills Of Toora
The ancient hills of Toora are looking brown today
Yet they were lush and rather green when last I passed this way
But that was last September when the nesting birds did sing
And every where looked greener in the early days of Spring.
To those ancient hills of Toora the Seasons come and go
And where once were thousands of gum trees only a few gums grow
And the Aboriginals who lived and hunted on those hills are not around today
Time brings with it great changes and it's always been that way.
The ancient hills of Toora as old as father time
And they were millions of years old when Christ was in his prime
The oldest human on Planet Earth perhaps fifteen years with five score
But the ancient hills of Toora will exist forever more.
The ancient hills of Toora overlooking Toora Town
From the long and warm dry Summer have never looked so brown
But I recall last September decked in their wildering flowers
Those ancient hills of Toora lush and green after Spring showers.
poem by Francis Duggan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Southern Gul
Hmm...
Yeah, show you right
Come on
Shing a ling shing, shing a ling shong
Shing a ling shing, shing a ling shong
Shing a ling shing, shing a ling shong
Twing twing dign ding dong
I'm from the South
I'm a Southern Girl
Home of the burning church
Don't know much about the world
Home of the pocket stones
Home of the booty songs
Home of the fingerwave that lasts
All night long
Home of the On & On
Home of the dominoes
Home of the two piece and a pepper
Home of the teeth is gold
Home of the Never Miss
Home of the platinum hits
I'm a Southern Girl
(Southern Girl)
Countryfied
Everything I eat is fried
Got a Southern drawl
I'm so country, y'all
Well that's way down South
Yeah it's way down low
Check my Southern-fried style
And my Southern flow
(Southern Girl)
Countryfied
I like my Tofu fried
Got about a hundred friends
That ain't caught on the trends
Don't know about the Internet
Don't know about the radio
Don't know about the television
All I know is 'bout my flow
My kin folks snet me out
To make money for the house
Hooked up with my boy, Rahzel
I sure hope the record sell
(Southern Girl)
Southern Girl, and I'll rock your world
Fly as a bumble bee (Buzz)
Can't nobody f*** with me
I'm a Southern Girl
From way down South
Got a dirty way
'Cause I got a dirty mouth, dirty South
(Southern Girl)
Twing da ling, dang da dang, tiki tiki
(Southern Girl)
Twing da ding ding da dong
Sounding like a
(Southern Girl)
Twing a ding ding a ding ding ding
(Southern Girl)
Ding a ding ding a dong
Big D, Lil' A, Double L.A.
Big D, Lil' A, Double L.A.
Big D, Lil' A, Double L.A.S
Mmm...mmm...mmm...
Dey ding a ding ding ding ding
Ding a ding ding ding
Ding a ding ding ding
song performed by by Erykah Badu
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
I Envy The Migratory Birds
I envy the migratory birds their freedom from Country to Country they fly
Their wings take them to distant places they travel thousands of miles by sky
Their life span is a brief span but they travel far and wide
Above the timeless oceans and miles of countryside
They live an average of thirty Seasons in time not a lengthy span
But they see more of the World than the most trvelled woman or man
I envy them their freedom they fly thousands of miles every year
From the coldness of the Artic to the warm Southern Hemisphere
They are the feathered wanderers they fly from pole to pole
The travel bug is in them till age of them takes toll
In the cool chill of the morning above the southern shore
They fly northwards towards their Artic breeding grounds twelve thousand miles or more
From the warm Southern Hemisphere they are born to migrate
They fly over many time zones and time for them doesn't wait.
poem by Francis Duggan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Let The Little Boy Sing
Take you back to a cotton field
In the heart of lousiana
Little boy about nine years old
Sings a song in the heat of the day
Mama cried when her little boy sang
She knew he could be someone special
Mama cried cause the way that it was
He would only be wasted away
Then his mama would pray
And every night she would say
Help my boy began
Take the lord by the hand
Let the little boy sing
Got a feeling that takes you home
Got a melody of his own
Let the little boy sing
Let the little boy try
Let the little boy buy
He can take you along
On the wings of his song
Let the little boy fly
Take you back to new orleans
Where the music wakes up with the city
To the bars by the railroad cars
On the neon side of town
Sang a song on the city streets
And people began to listen
Southern boy, sing your southern song
Take it like no one aound
Nobody walked by
Without feelin high
Never heard it before
Theyd be calling for more
Let the little boy sing
Got a melody of his own
Got a feeling that takes you home
Let the little boy sing
And let the little boy fly
Let the little boy try
He can take you along
On the wings of his song
Let the little boy fly
Let him take you away
(ladies and gentlemen
Super? ? are proud to introduce
The little boy with a soul of a star)
Let the little boy sing
Got a melody of his own
Got a feeling that takes you home
Let the little boy sing
Let the little boy try
Let the little boy buy
He can take you along
On the wings of his song
Let the little boy fly
song performed by by Neil Diamond
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!