In The Gloaming

On the wooded hill overlooking the old town the home of wallaby and roo In the gloam of a Winter's evening the calls of the yellow tail black cockatoo Echoes in the darkening valley as they fly off to roost for the night To see them shredding pine cones for their dark seeds on the pine trees one can say is an often seen sight On the wooded hill in the gloaming the darkness is gathering around The low clouds are silently creeping as gray fog close to the high ground The owls and nightgars, bats and possums and the birds known as tawny frogmouth From their day trees and their hiding places in search of food at nightfall venture out For to live whilst all others are sleeping they were born to be creatures of the night To mate and to defend their borders and call aloud in the moonlight In the gloaming of a Winter's evening as darkness creeps across the sky The black cockatoos they are calling as to their roosting trees they do fly The gray fog creeps down from the hillside and one cannot see the sun set And the nocturnal creatures at daybreak will return to their homes rather wet.