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797.
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In My Every Walk In Nature
In my walks in Nature great beauty I've seen
Like bluebells in bloom on the ditch of bohreen
When hawthorns were in their white blooms of the May
And nesting birds sung in the woods far away.
In my walks in Nature strange voices I hear
Like the song of the whipbird so whip like and clear
In the wooded gully hidden in the brake
A voice from once heard one can never mistake.
In my every walk in Nature and I've had more than a few
To my great surprise I do learn something new
From Nature we learn something new every day
We do never stop learning as some like to say.
I have loved Mother Nature since I was a boy
And my walks in her quiet places I thoroughly enjoy
Her wildbirds chirp and whistle on every bush and tree
And her beauty is everywhere all around me.
Francis Duggan
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798.
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In The Night Air
Hundreds of small moths around the orange street light fly
And a boobook owl calls on moonlit trees nearby
And the sounds of the night are around everywhere
And how pleasant to walk out in the cool night air.
There is a cool freshness in the cool evening breeze
And the male brush tail possums snarling on the garden trees
And the wild cry of the fox though outlawed not rare
A familiar voice one hears in the night air.
Of such natural beauty a poet could write
The voices of nocturnal creatures in places dark and quiet
They come out at nightfall and hidden away
In their dark holes and burrows hide from light of day.
The crickets are chirping in the old stone wall
And one cannot mistake the barn owl's call
And the soft distinctive whistle makes one of the wombat aware
As he calls for a mate in the balmy night air.
Francis Duggan
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799.
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In The Snowy Mountain Country
In the Snowy mountain country where the Snowy river flow
The temperatures at zero and the winds of Winter blow
And the hungry fox is barking out there on the moonlit hill
His voice re-echoes in the silence something loud and wild and shrill.
In the Snowy mountain country where Peter lived as a boy
He still talks about the storms there and the big winds of July
And the Snowy river in full flood it roared downhill bank high
And the roos fled the flooded paddocks for places high and dry.
But the Snowy mountain country is a pleasant land in Spring
In the cool days of September the wild birds nest and sing
And the magpies build their nests of sticks and carol all day long
And the territorial butcherbird sings his bubbling courtship song.
From the Snowy mountain country Peter now lives far away
In Rockhampton in the Queensland tropics where there's seldom a wet day
And though the man may leave the mountain the mountain in him stay
I come from the Southern highlands with great pride you hear him say.
In the Snowy mountain country storm clouds are in the sky
And the roos have fled the flooded paddocks for places high and dry
But when July fades to August Spring to the hills is near
And September in the Snowies is a lovely time of year.
Francis Duggan
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800.
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In This Multicultural City
In this multicultural City where every race dwell
Every individual have their own story to tell
People of every Nation from places far and near
Of every culture you will find them here.
Yet little in common they do seem to share
They bring their old ways with them from over there
Birds of a feather flock together some are known to say
With human kind at times it does seem that way.
With birds, fish and animals and flies and bees
Our differences one might say only in degrees
We stick with our own kind and we are tribal too
And as birds, fish, insects and animals do we also do.
In this multicultural City all tribes congregate
But mostly their own cultures they celebrate
And every tribe they have their own special god
And we look on each other one might say as odd.
Francis Duggan
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