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The sun is rising at my back;
across the land’s a lemon glow,
to brighten up my backdrop,
where pristine vegetation grow.

I’m sitting down upon my porch,
with coffee cup held in my hand;
a slice of toast with vegemite,
while I’m gazing at the woodland.

I’m taking in the morning chorus,
that echoes through the morning air,
and fills the vale with melody;
but who owns this whole affair?

Through Grevillea and Fuschia,
Correa, Banksia and Bottlebrush,
there is a feathered movement,
in the morning feeding rush.

A sip from my cup of coffee.
The final little piece of toast,
and now sit back, relax and join, 
what in my mind does matter most.

Kookaburra, Magpie, Butcher-bird,
visit for a special treat,
and one by one I hand to them,
a few leftover scraps of meat.

The New Holland Honeyeaters,
arrive in the morning hours,
to flit around heath banksia,
and sip nectar from the flowers.

A spry pair of Eastern Spinebills,
in what appears euphoria,
rush from blossom after blossom,
on fuschias and a correa.

Blackbirds are kicking out the mulch.
Sparrows skip on lawn for their need.
Blue Wrens hop and bounce in foliage,
searching for worms, insects, or seed.

The sun is rising in the sky,
a lull of song comes with it too. 
Suddenly my yard’s devoid of birds,
because they’re only passing through.

And at the distant forest border,
something else is passing through.
As they feed upon the pasture;
I admire a mob of kangaroo.

And overhead a screeching cloud,
of Corellas steal the morning still,
flying to their feeding grounds,
passing through and always shrill.

And there’s visiting Black Cockies;
who’ve stopped for a visit too.
They’ve spied seed pods on a hakea,
that they’ll destroy and pass on through.

My working day should now begin;
I’ve had my fix of passing through,
and knowing what tomorrow brings -
my golly gosh! There goes an Emu.
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