Song of the Evening
SONG OF THE EVENING
In a lullaby song of the evening.
In the background a cricket sings,
corellas fly past, to their resting tree
high upon silhouette wings.
Red sky widens and covers the west
with half sun glowing and gold,
there’s stark contrast between heaven and earth
as life in a pondage unfold.
Bullfrog! Bullfrog! Clearing your throat,
reed warbler should be going to sleep.
‘Sweet pretty creature,’ call of willy wagtail
and crickets continue to cheep.
In a lullaby song of the evening,
new stars are beginning to shine,
plovers’ static call fills the growing dim sky
and the reed warbler's calling decline.
So when the changeover’s completed,
and day has now turned into night,
these lullaby songs of the evening,
are now hidden well out of sight.
Bullfrog! Bullfrog! Clearing your throat,
and crickets continue to cheep.
‘Sweet pretty creature,’ call of willy wagtail,
the ringtail awake from their sleep.
A red fox is yapping, then a mournful drawl,
the mopoke hoots steady and soft.
Radar pings in flight of the wattled bat
echo with it flying aloft.
A koala growls in the manna gum tops,
a sugar gliders’ stealing its space,
maned geese flying blind from dam to dam
moan ‘gnow’ for the night to embrace.
The lullaby song of the evening is dying,
where hunter and hunted exist,
for the art of survival is simply relying
on mute vigilance in their midst.
Bullfrog! Bullfrog! You are silent now,
reed warbler is sleeping at last.
Plovers’ are quiet, crickets no longer sing
the moon in a stillness drifts past.
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