On Terry's Hill

On the high ground in the freshening winds their branches gently wave
The huge gum trees known as mountain ash in the Woodland of Belgrave
And the laughter of the kookaburras familiar and quite shrill
Echoes in the silent dawn across old Terrys Hill.

In nostalgic fancy I can hear the flocks of pied currawong
You hear them once and the next time you do not get them wrong
And the crimson rosellas so beautiful to see
They pipe their very pleasant notes as they fly from tree to tree.

One of the World's great mimics in Belgrave wood reside
The lyrebird's voice it echoes in the high wooded Countryside
He mimics all of the birds he hear in his locality
For including bits of others songs in his there's none greater than he.

The white cockies squawk on Terrys Hill just before the sun goes down
And when darkness envelopes the wood above old Belgrave Town
The powerful owl utters his loud though somewhat mournful cry
And the wind in the tall gum sough under the darkened sky.