Cry Of The Boobook

In near by wood I hear the boobook call
On this the darkest night of all the year
That voice once heard one never can mistake
At once far off and then so very near.

The light switched off I lay awake in bed
And sleep tonight will not come easily
But I don't blame the bird with mopoke call
His voice doesn't ever seem to bother me.

The ghosts of Aboriginals 'Kimba' say
They hide in dark tree holes in the daylight
They still mourn for the land that once was theirs
And cry out in the dark woods of the night.

The boobook's call the strangest that I know
And I see truth in what old Kimba say
It fits the reason for the mournful cry
Of bird that's seldom seen in light of day.

Perhaps sleep won't come easily tonight
As on my bed in darkened room I lay
But for that I won't blame the boobok owl
Who cry out in the wood across the way.