The Pied Butcherbird Poem by Francis Duggan

In the bright morning sunshine i hear that flute like song
And there can be no mistaking to whom the voice belong
I close my eyes and visualize and distance disappear
And the voice of the pied butcherbird i fancy i can hear.

High on the sunlit gum tree bill pointed towards the sky
His soft and pleasant whistle heard by the passer by
His song perhaps of territory or to attract a mate
And school boys on their way to school his whistle imitate.

In Northern New South Wales and Queensland where Winter's as mild as Spring
In the coolness of the morning the pied butcherbirds sing
In parklands and town gardens on gum and wattle trees
You hear them softly warbling their pleasant melodies.

Just as the dawn is breaking and as darkness leaves the sky
You hear them chirp and whistle as from branch to branch they fly
Birds of the sub tropics and tropics north of the cooler south
For to define their borders they sing as they fly about.

I close my eyes and visualize and distance disappear
And the song of the pied butcherbird i fancy i can hear
His dark wings slightly trembling bill pointed towards the sky
And his soft and pleasant whistle heard by the passer by.