The Grey Goshawk

There is a flutter in the trees, And now a sudden, dread unease Stills all the bushland melodies Amid the gums; Stills now the song of wren and thrush, Robin and honeyeater hush. Now, with a swoop, a whistling rush, Grey goshawk comes. I am the threat: the dread king. Grim Azrael, is on the wing, And every little living thing Dares scarce a breath. And now a parrot, shrill with fear, Flies dodging there and doubling here Thro' inlaced limbs, in mad career From lusting death. Grey ghost, grey death, I work my will O'er forest dense, o'er wood hill, And on some tree-top rend my kill With reddened beak. There is no have in the tree, There is no habor safe from me; In many a singing sanctuary My meat I seek. Beware! The swift grey ghost is out! Be still! Grey death lurks near about! Crouch close! Shrink low! ... But have no doubt I've marked my kill. Grim nemesis. I never fail; Gaint hunger is my spur, my flail. I feast. And now away I sail O'er the far hill.