| |
|
|
8397.
|
WhereThe Murray Flows On Towards The Sea
The old paddocks brown and bare looking they've outlived man's mortality
And cool blow the winds of September where the Murray crawls on towards the sea
I fancy I can hear the magpie piping on a lone blackwood tree
Mental pictures of wild rugged beauty embedded in my memory.
'Tis been said that old Murray is dying that on the river salinity is taking it's toll
That sandbars stop her flowing through to saltwater but all life is not gone from her soul
Many milleniums before the first humans before she was given her name
The Murray flowed on towards the ocean long before the dinosaurs came.
The black story tellers who lived by the Murray in their stories told of the Dreamtime
And they had their Corroborees by the river now honoured in lore and in rhyme
And still the old river is living though People like the Seasons come and go
And through the old land of the Dreamtime the Murray forever will flow.
It is said that the Murray is dying that salinity from her chokes life
But Nature will ensure her survival though salt in her waters now rife
And centuries from now when I am long gone and forgotten a magpie will pipe on a gum tree
In a paddock in that old brown country where the Murray crawls on towards the sea.
Francis Duggan
|
| |
|
|
| |
|
| |
|
|
8398.
|
Whistle And Sing
He walks in the Townpark every morning the old man known as Whistle and Sing
The great gift of joy is a blessing it is such a wonderful thing
He is always whistling and singing on the pathway as he walks along
The ballads he learned in his young years the man who knows many a song
The songs he heard his father singing when he was young decades ago
When he was a boy in the valley in the home of the black and gray crow
The years have left him looking older his once brown hair now silver gray
But he is a happy old fellow he whistles and sings every day
He is in the park every morning even in weather cold enough to snow
And everyone he meets he smiles at and to everyone he says hello
He may be well into his seventies but he has the heart of a boy
And happiness he carries with him to know one like him is a joy
He is in the park every morning the man known as Whistle and Sing
And happiness is always with him and joy to the World he does bring.
Francis Duggan
|
| |
|
|
| |
|
| |
|
|
8399.
|
Whistling Tom
In his early seventies his hair silvery gray
I meet Whistling Tom in the park every day
When he smiles and says hi the gap in his teeth show
He walks in all weather sun, rain, hail or snow.
He does know the air of many an old song
And he is always whistling as he walks along
His beautiful whistling brings joy to the day
A happy old bloke in his own cheerful way.
He lives in a one bedroom Council flat at an unfashionable address
But poverty for him not a barrier to happiness
He whistles and sings he is happy and kind
A beautiful man with a beautiful mind.
A stranger to financial wealth and renown
Yet he is the happiest person in town
He is happy with his life he hasn't a care
But people like him as always are rare.
In the Townpark every evening he is one I do see
And he never fails for to acknowledge me
A stranger to wealth and a stranger to fame
But he whistles and sings Whistling Tom his nickname.
Francis Duggan
|
| |
|
|
| |
|
| |
|
|
8400.
|
White Fronted Chats
I see them often though not every day
The male with dark breast band and white, brown and gray
And the female plain as females often are
In birdsworld males the prettier birds by far.
Quiet little birds of late that I've come to know
You see them where rough grass and bracken grow
They search for their prey insects on the ground
And with nodding heads you see them walk around.
In paddocks not far from the ocean shore
The poets and painters them seem to ignore
As you approach them they rise up and fly
And 'White fronted chats' the name they are known by.
They build their cup shaped nest of grass and hay
On shrub and three or sometimes four eggs lay
Pale spotted eggs their nests are seldom found
Though shrubs and tussocks you may search around.
They are not common neither are they rare
And they have their places don't live everywhere
In paddocks not far distant from the sea
White fronted chats are birds one often see.
Francis Duggan
|
| |
|