Just One Of Nature's Many Feathered Minstrels

On a wattle in the scrubby paddock a grey shrike thrush whistles and sings
Champion songster of the quiet places with the sunshine on his brown wings
Though out of his breeding season and though the Spring seems far away
From tree to tree he flies and whistles in the bright sunshine of day.

His song cannot be mistaken once heard you know him again
And why most of the fine feathered songsters for to look at do seem rather plain
Is somehow beyond me to explain 'tis Nature's way I do suppose
That some weeds can be sweet scenting whilst there is no scent from the rose.

At Nature's wonders I marvel but of Nature little I seem to know
And the more that we learn about Nature the more that our wonderment grow
About the workings of the Natural World her most precious secrets with us Nature never does share
And Nature needs all of her allies though her allies sad to say rare.

On a wattle tree the grey shrike thrush is whistling his flute like notes are ringing clear
Once heard he cannot be mistaken and his song always pleasant to hear
Just one of Nature's many feathered minstrels he pipes on this bright Autumn day
Though this is not his breeding season and Spring does seem so far away.