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Of all the birds that I hold dear
The Butcher Bird calls when he is near
His woodnote pierces our early dawn
To this honeyed sound, I am drawn.
His songs and warbles ,these calls we dote
Fixing our mind on one long note
He chatters and warbles an occasional baulk
His tunes unique, but cannot talk.
Our pieball friends sit on our rail
Of plated titbits they do avail
I toss small morsels in the air
They quickly respond from anywhere.
These patched birds all seen so tame
But savagery is their claim to fame
A downturned beak a surely sign
This hunter is, no bird benign.
Insects and spiders a common diet
Skilful hunters yet they are quiet
Until they burst into joyful play
And herald our world at start of day.
Our Maggies and Rosellas have basic calls
With multiple notes our friend enthralls
Kookaburras laugh , one ranging cry
Our Butcher Birds tune does fill the sky.
I love these hunters and pieball clowns
Rich on life ,so good on sounds
I have taped their music for friends overseas
Their unique melody a gift to please.
I'd like to come back as a gabbler,
in the form of a Grey-crowned Babbler,
I have three in my yard,
and it's not very hard,
to be charmed by their vernacular.
To my joy they are often seen bouncing,
around my garden a pouncing,
scratching the soil,
for insects they toil,
or a spider that may cop a trouncing!
They constantly giggle and natter,
like the rest of the world doesn't matter,
they do make me grin
and my heart they do win,
every time that I hear their sweet chatter!
The Blue 'Boy Wonder'
He struts and flits and tweets and flirts…that Sheik, the Blue ‘Boy Wonder’
They follow and furrow and burrow and dig…the Harem, serving under.
His depth of blues is sheer delight, his body all a-toned
Their drab browns are his power, his surety they’re “owned”.
And who can blame the ladies, for their mini peacock’s charm
Is sure unmatched in nature; his plumage ne’er outdone.
So when the twitter’s settled down, at sunset, in the bush
Respect the revel that’s to come, when all around is hushed.
For he’s a job to do, for sure - a challenge for a tot
He’s got to keep ‘em happy, that brown bevy, that whole lot!
We spare a thought each night for his athletic interventions
And greet him in the morn with nowt but curious intentions
To check his brood and how they’ve fared and maybe count the cost
Oh no, it’s as we sometimes fear - another one’s gone lost!!
They come…they go: they‘re “there”, these little chappies
Thank God they are for if they weren’t we wouldn’t be so happy.
Brown thornbills are my favourite bird.
They easily win hands down.
They always provide us with a smile
When we’d previously had a frown.
They come in twos and flit about
Amongst our scrubby plants.
Our paperbark and hibiscus
Provide a venue for their dance.
At first we only heard them;
Their happy song a real delight.
And then we later spotted them
In and out of the dappled light.
They urged us to plant more bushy shrubs
To provide more habitat.
So that we can see more of them
And hear their happy chat.
We really love our “thornies”.
Not just an LBJ.
Please keep an eye out for them;
They could brighten up your day.
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