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The Pretty Gouldian

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The Pretty Gouldian

In the evening they’re not storm clouds that are swirling left and right,
They are the residents coming down to drink,
Every colour you can think of, would then seek their roosting sight,  
But today it’s sad we’ve seen their numbers shrink. 

They would rise up in the Kimberley from heads of seeding grass,
Making rainbows out of trees, but then man
Trapped and poisoned thousands, around the waterholes.
Today a traveller rarely gets to see…the pretty Gouldian.
 
The speckled clouds are gone forever, the evening skies are clear, 
They’re something we shall never see again,
A farmer’s needs are quite important; we must change the structure here,
So we must lose the pretty Gouldian.

And today if you are lucky touring through the northern dry,
When you’ve pulled up to be closer to the land,
By walking through the dead grass you might hear a plaintive cry,  
Where there may be a pair of Gouldian.

The old man stands erect with his head bowed as he trills,
To his lady who he seeks the answer, yes,  
They both seek a hollow where they test their breeding skills,
Feeding iridescent nodules, in pinfeather dress.  

If it wasn’t for the passion of the breeders overseas,
When the Gouldian has vanished from this land,
Now we must leave Australia, Mitchell Grass and bottle trees,
To see the Gouldian in millions in Japan.

The speckled clouds are gone forever, the evening skies are clear, 
They’re something we shall never see again,
A farmer’s needs are quite important, we must change the structure here,
So we must lose the pretty Gouldian.

The speckled clouds are gone forever,
It’s something we shall never see again,
A farmer’s needs are quite important,
So we must lose the pretty Gouldian.

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