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Best Poems From
FRANCIS DUGGAN
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7997.
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Tower Hill
The countryside looks lush and greener after the recent rain
And the sheep and cattle with more grass to eat kilos in weight do gain
This place affected less by climate change or so 'twould seem that way
Through the undulating coastal landscape wafts the pleasant scent of hay
Tower Hill between Port Fairy and Warrnambool at it's finest to be seen
This beautiful coastal countryside has never looked so green
The goldfinches are singing on the gum and sheoak trees
And there is a certain freshness in the cool Pacific breeze
Tower Hill by the Pacific has inspired the bards to rhyme
This was a very ancient place long before the Dreamtime
Long before Tower Hill became a National Park in the shadow of the trees
The first Australian people danced their corroborees
It is a humbling feeling for to stand on sacred ground
In a place of an ancient history where beauty does abound.
Francis Duggan
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7998.
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Travel Stained Man
The other day I met a tramp
His hair was wet, his clothes looked damp
The poor man seemed hungry and cold
He must have been sixty years old.
His wrinkled face showed signs of strain
In his right hand was a walking cane,
The memory with me will long remain
Of him walking in the cold November rain.
This slender man of snow white hair
With clothes that were the worst for wear
Greeted with a curt good day
And slowly plodded on his way.
To be frank and speak the truth
I pitied one so destitute
And though it may sound a little queer
I had to fight to choke a tear.
The Winter months are harsh and long
And this poor man did not seem strong
I wonder will he see the Spring
And hear again the blackbird sing? .
As I sleep in a comfortable bed
This man will sleep in a draughty shed
Inhabited by rats and mice
On hay and straw ridden with lice.
He's no self respect or pride,
All self respect in him has died,
He lives a life of poverty
And has to beg for charity.
He knows about degradation
About prejudice and discrimination
These he meet with every day
When well offs from him turn away.
But on his journeys he also meet
People who give him money and food to eat,
His type they can understand
And reach to him the helping hand
Vagabonds are born to roam
His kind seldom have been known
To take a job and settle down
They like to move from town to town.
I pitied him he looked so frail,
His wrinkled face so wan and pale
And though I hope I'm wrong it seems to me
That Spring time he won't live to see.
Time from my mind will not erase
The memory of the poor tramp's face
Who someday soon may be found dead
In a cold and draughty shed
Francis Duggan
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7999.
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Tree Sparrows
Than their cousins house sparrows they are far more shy
The moment they see you into bushes or trees they do fly
They do look attractive when seen in the sunlight
Though in colouration from the house sparrows the difference does seem slight.
Tree sparrows are birds one doesn't see every day
From human dwellings from their cousins they live further away
For insects and seeds they search on the ground
And in Winter in flocks their numbers abound.
Like house sparrows chirpers they too cannot sing
But than house sparrows more wary of humans which is a good thing
They seem rather restless when humans are near
One might say of them their's is a healthy fear.
In grassy places near bushes and trees them I often do see
But they fly into cover when they notice me
Their cousins compared to them seem rather tame
Tree sparrows for them is an often used name.
Francis Duggan
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8000.
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Treecreepers
Elusive birds them one don't often see
Treecreepers build their cup shaped nest of bark behind loose bark of tree
From predators concealed and hidden away
And pinkish spotted eggs the female lay.
Shy woodland birds of humans they show respectful fear
They climb tree trunks in search of insects and when human to them venture near
Of the tree trunk they disappear to the other side
Of watchers eyes they'd much prefer to hide.
They will never be renowned as birds of song
Though their familiar chirps one hardly could get wrong
The ornithologists and bird watchers on studying them don't spend much of their time
And they seldom have inspired the poets to rhyme.
From the day they leave the nest until the day they die
From ground up they climb the tree and then to the next tree fly
To climb again in search of invertebrates such things they like to eat
They must have great strength in their tiny feet
In wooded places they like to reside
And from predators their cup shaped nest they hide
Shy little birds when human to them venture near
To the other side of the tree trunk they disappear.
Francis Duggan
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