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In quiet old Piccanniny the forest ravens caw
Around their breeding borders observing Nature's law
It is their nesting time of year and with nests to defend
The nesting pairs tell other birds where their borders do end,
Off of the woodland pathway one can hear the heavy bound
Of wallabies and kangaroos across the scrubby ground
The woodland is their sanctuary during the hours of day
From trees or heavy cover they are never far away,
The calls of the pied currawong their songs can tell of rain
Once heard birds one cannot mistake in memory their voices remain
And the soft pipings of the crimson rosellas come wafting in the breeze
On a pleasant evening in early Spring of around seventeen degrees
And pink and yellow flowers are bloomimg on the heath and shrike thrush in his cloak of gray
Is whistling on a wattle tree on this mild September day.

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