The blackbird flies to her hedgerow nest with lichen in her beak <br />And the magpie's song re-echo through the hills of Archies Creek <br />And on her nest cloaked by high grass inconspicuous in her brown <br />The shy lark cloaks her nestlings eight miles from Wonthaggi Town. <br /> <br />Above the high green paddock her airborne partner sing <br />Up towards the gates of heaven he carols on the wing <br />A small speck that grows smaller till in clouds he disappear <br />The little bird has vanished but his song I still can hear. <br /> <br />On the high Loch road I met a man the years had made him gray <br />Since I was born I have lived here that's what I heard him say <br />The lust for wander I've not felt and adventure I don't seek <br />I love the peace and beauty of the hills of Archies Creek. <br /> <br />He had never travelled over seas or the great cities had seen <br />And he's not been to the far off hills his own hills far more green <br />And he doesn't yearn to see the Pyramids or the Seven Hills of Rome <br />Amongst the green hills of Archies Creek he's always felt at home. <br /> <br />Where the butcherbird he flutes at dawn upon the blackwood tree <br />And the Powlett river down the hill goes babbling towards the sea <br />The coastal lands look greener when the Spring is at her peak <br />Eight miles out of Wonthaggi from the hills of Archies Creek.<br /><br />Francis Duggan<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-hills-of-archies-creek/
