The Song Of The Gray Shrike Thrush

The song of the gray shrike thrush so pleasant to hear
He whistles on a wattle tree to where i am near
His whistling so distinctive, melodious and clear
For one wild-born of me he displays little fear
Not one in his lifetime who will travel to places far and wide
From the verge of the woodland in the high countryside
Not far from where he was born and raised he is happy to stay
And here he will live until his last living day
A bird of gray under and back and wings of light brown
Any of his kind i have yet to see in in the park of a town
At the verge of the high wood he sings at daybreak
His whistling once heard one never again is likely to mistake
On a young wattle tree to where i am standing near
His territorial whistling a joy for to hear.