Ferny Creek

The grey butcherbird with silvery beak
Pipes on a wattle tree in Ferny Creek
And kookaburra's voice is echoing shrill
On the gum trees on the wooded hill
The whip bird's whip like call ring clear
And in the wooded gully near
The lyrebird his neighbours imitate
Their songs in his song he incorporate
In late Winter the magpies sing all through the night
Their flute like notes in the moonlight
Echoes on the wooded hills around
The feathered minstrels of the higher ground,
Late August time on Winter ticks away
And Spring is that bit nearer every day.

by Francis Duggan

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