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The most of us worry a bit every day
We worry what others think of us or say
And we worry for our lack of material success
We have this need in us others for to impress
Many of us wish to be popular and to others well known
But our private and personal matters we protect as our own
And few of us without some secrets of the mind
Even those who crave to be centre of attention too can be secretive kind
So many their own praises do love to sing
The nourishment of the ego can be a popular thing
At community and social gatherings and wherever people meet
So many for to be noticed with each other compete
And yet there are those who in their ways are quite shy
Who for to become well known feel no desire for to try
They never does yearn for material wealth and renown
And are not even well known in their neighbourhood of the town
And even those with many friends do not go through life without foes
This is how humanity works one does have to suppose
No two exactly the same in truth one can say
And many of us are so different in our own way.
Gray crowned babblers are birds I do not often see
Since they live in the treed countryside a few hours by car from me
Grey breast and head and overall mostly brown
I have never seen them in a park of a town
On a tree in an untidy domed nest of sticks lined with grass and wool the female bird lay
Two to six brownish eggs and as a group from their territory they chase other birds away
Known as babblers because they sing together a babbling sort of a song
Birds from once heard and once seen one never again should get wrong
Quite different to most birds is how they seem to be
Not that long ago in Halls Gap a flock of them I did see
Since they are mostly rural birds they are not widely known
But one can say of them they have ways of their own
Birds I know of but do not see every day
Since they live in the treed countryside from where I live far away.
They are Nature's composters of them one can say
Since on the breaking down of decaying material a huge part they does play
Under the bark of wooden logs or decaying timber hidden away
Woodlice are insects that thrive on decay
They are insects that seem to like their privacy
Crawling on the ground them seldom one does see
In cracks of decaying timber or under bark from daylight they hide
Woodlice are local as well as Worldwide
And are insects of countryside and city and town
They are friends of Nature since rotting vegetation they help to break down
Strip the bark off of a wooden log or a standing dead tree
And scurrying for cover them you will see
They spend their lives in darkness out of the sunlight
composting for Nature hidden from sight.
I feel lucky in life in truth I can say
In the nice and kind people I meet every day
My faith in humanity they help to restore
Though the World of their sort is in need of more
Friendly strangers are people you would like to get to know
One can say of them they have the inner glow
The warmth in their greeting attracts people to them since they seem free of care
The joy bubbling in them with others they share
Every day when I am walking the street
some sad faced people I happen to meet
Perhaps they have worries or in their ways are shy
For when I salute them they never reply
Though I feel lucky in truth I can say
In some of the nice people I meet every day.
A nice sunny July day in this place in the far south
Surrounded by natural beauty for to write about
Overlooking the ocean far as the eyes can see
On a day like today such a nice place to be
A sound of the ocean that is forever more
The rumbling of the white waves on the rocky shore
Such beautiful weather for the time of year
Though in the southern Winter one does have the feeling that Spring it is near
With a temperature high of eighteen degrees
And only the slightest chill in the breeze
That carry in it a nice salty spray
Across the high park overlooking the bay
Earthly Utopia from this place cannot be far away
On this beautiful and sunny mild Winter's day.
For those who live without hope one must feel sorry indeed
For of help they are worthy of it and so much in need
Financially down and low in self esteem
Yet nowadays so many like them it does seem
So many without hope end their lives in suicide
Every day this does happen sad to say Worldwide
To people who have lost their great gift of hope
And with the pressures of living can no longer cope
Hope to the mind a positive feeling does bring
To have it can be such a wonderful thing
One can only feel sorry that hope from them has gone
Their struggle in life is to keep on living on
Hope can be your ally when your life's journey gets rough
When you are short of money and times on you are tough
There is always a future for those who have hope
With life's toughest situations they somehow does cope.
That time is running out on me my age this does explain
But I would hate to be starting on my life's journey again
In a Human World where millions of people for jobs do compete
And everyday in life some new challenge for you to meet
In life more than most I have had a fair go
But time that rusts iron has become my foe
Into my seventh decade well past my physical prime
It is obviously clear I am running out of time
And time that rusts iron does not spare anyone
Not even the wealthy celebrities and their daughter and son
Though like many I fear death I too will have to die
If I told you I would love to be reborn this would be a lie
In a human World where everyday for most people some new challenge for to meet
And for attention and jobs and success millions do compete.
As a boy I used to take her hunting in Matty Owens bog
Old Pudsy our dark brown family and cattle dog
And to many a hare in her prime she gave chase
But she never did catch one her they did outpace
She was useless as a guard dog why otherwise pretend
Since Pudsy only wished to be everyone's friend
And though with other dogs she never did pick a fight
Any dog who attacked her she put to flight
She was muscular and hairy and so big and strong
Any dog fight she was in did not last long
And most of the neighbourhood dogs learned in the hard way
That to mess with Pudsy there was some price to pay
Tests of courage in her prime Pudsy never did fail
She often left the big angry Friesian bull with a bloodied tail
One animal all of the people in the neighbourhood did fear
But that he realized Pudsy was his boss was obviously clear
The best words to describe her was strong, healthy and tough
She never slept indoors she always slept rough
She slept in the backyard even when she was old
And never sought shelter from the wet and the cold
She was not a bad dog for to give her what was her due
Until her death as a friend she remained ever true
Our Pudsy our faithful and hairy dark brown
When we were younger west of Millstreet Town.
