As I walked up a well worn path
By railroad track in Ballarat
Up from a clump of bleached grass flew
A bird at first glance that I knew.
His roots hark back to European
Where wind blow cold and grass grow green
A long way from Australia's shore
Perhaps twelve thousand miles or more.
Straight on my pathway he did fly
And perched on timber post nearby
Perhaps a cock of two years old
With red band above beak and wings of gold.
Perched on a wooden post in bright sunlight
He looked a very pretty sight
He stand in height just over an inch
But his is prettiest breed of finch.
In the hot sunlight of mid day
From timber post he flew away
My heart was pulsating with joy
And my thoughts returned to days gone by
When oft times in Ireland in the spring
I listened to his kin bird sing
I'd listen to them all day long
These little wildborn birds of song.
In Ballarat in January
Oh what a pleasant memory
To see again the fair hued bird
And beautiful for him the word.
Lit by Australia's bright sunshine
A young cock goldfinch in his prime
A memory of Europe here
A thing of joy a thing to cheer.
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