In Olinda In Mid April

On the high ground at Olinda the pied currawong
On the taller trees in small flocks are on song
Birds that on the high woodlands live all through the year
And when you hear them singing you know rain is near
In Olinda in April in the Southern Fall
The deciduous trees to the wind and rain losing leaves from their shawl
In a few weeks from now they will be standing bare
In admiration at one of Nature's wonders one can only stare
In the breeze thousands of leaves together all wrinkled and brown
To Nature's green bosom slowly drifting down
For food and shelter for ground dwelling insects who live on leaf decay
All things in Nature do serve some purpose since that is their way
Where the voice of the pied currawong is a familiar thing
In mid April in Olinda few birds ever sing.