In Baxters Land In September

In Baxters Land in Wonthaggi where the roos are wild and shy The tireless welcome swallows just above the rank grass fly Since the flying insects that they feed on in cool weather don't go high When the sun is clouded over and rain clouds are in the sky. A pair of eastern rosellas fly to the old gum tree With morsels of food for their babies in their nesting cavity And the grey shrike thrush is whistling his voice none could mistake Upon a flowering golden wattle on the banks of Baxters lake. A pair of black swans and their cygnets swim close to the lake shore And a pair of little grebes with babies on their backs I counted at least four They both dived under water and surfaced further out And they do seem very wary when humans are about. On the dead trees standing in the lake the ibises roost at night One can see them silhoutted in the pale and dim moonlight And the masked lapwings are calling in their breeding territory And they mob the prowling foxes to protect their family. In Baxters lake in September the shy chestnut teal breed And moorhens, coots and eastern swamphens on the mudflats with their families feed And sandpipiers from the Artic for invertebrates probe the soft mud and clay Just a stop off on their travels on their southern holiday. In Baxters Land in September the butcher bird sings all day long And thete is such wild beauty in the magpie's warbling song And the tireless welcome swallows just above the rank grass fly For the flying insects they feed on never high when rain is nigh.