Across The Bare Brown Hill

Across the bare brown hill of this old Country the kookaburras voice rings loud and clear
Just before twilight in the quiet of evening a voice that one is likely for to hear
Overlooking the quiet streets of the village the silence one might say almost profound
And when the kookaburras have done with their laughter silence and darkness covers the high ground.

A sort of scene a poet might find inspiring the street lights glow in the village main street
In the late Fall a month before the Winter when day and night in the quiet country meet
When night spreads it's darkened cloak across the high ground and the hunting fox starts barking on the hill
He will grow quieter as he grows more hungry the small and timid he does stalk to kill.

In a hundred years from now one yet not born will feel privileged for to witness such a scene
He will hear the kookaburras laugh at twilight on the bare hill where the rare trees don't look so green
The birds to the quiet country so familiar perhaps descendants of the birds i hear today
By then i will have long returned to Nature and in her dark bosom my whitened bones will lay.

The kookaburras laughter rings out loudly on the high ground as day fades to the night
And when the birds have finished with their calling the darkness comes and all is very quiet
Save for the barking fox just out of his den his voice familiar though sounding rather shrill
And all is silent in the higher country as the moon's face peeps above the quiet hill.