In The Gloaming

On the wooded hill overlooking the old town the home of wallaby and roo
In the gloam of a Winter's evening the calls of the yellow tail black cockatoo
Echoes in the darkening valley as they fly off to roost for the night
To see them shredding pine cones for their dark seeds on the pine trees one can say is an often seen sight
On the wooded hill in the gloaming the darkness is gathering around
The low clouds are silently creeping as gray fog close to the high ground
The owls and nightgars, bats and possums and the birds known as tawny frogmouth
From their day trees and their hiding places in search of food at nightfall venture out
For to live whilst all others are sleeping they were born to be creatures of the night
To mate and to defend their borders and call aloud in the moonlight
In the gloaming of a Winter's evening as darkness creeps across the sky
The black cockatoos they are calling as to their roosting trees they do fly
The gray fog creeps down from the hillside and one cannot see the sun set
And the nocturnal creatures at daybreak will return to their homes rather wet.