In Fancy

In fancy I am where the Powlett is inching it's way towards the sea
And high above the rank and brown scrubland the skylark I hear and I see
His voice it cannot be mistaken as upwards and upwards he fly
Surely one of Nature's great songsters a small speck in the sunny sky
On down to the sea by the sandhills the Powlett slowly crawls along
And on high sunlit branch of a blackwood the grey butcherbird is in song
His familiar pipe so melodious to my heart he sings ever near
In fancy I am by the Powlett in distance a long way from here
To the old coastal lands of Kilcunda the Seasons they come and they go
To the once home of the indigenous Bunurong of their history little we know
Perhaps under the brown scrub by the river their bones at peace forever lay
In fancy I am by the Powlet in distance from here far away
The skylark sings as he flies upwards o'er the scrub by the saltwater shore
And over beyond the brown sandhills I can hear the great ocean roar.