Lyrebird

Whipbird, Whistler,
Currawong, Cockatoo,
As he pulls his elegant tail over his head,
A long and repeated phrase 
In his extensive repertoire
By far the loudest and most iconic,
The tracking phrase, one of the only
That is not ventriloquism,

Whipbird, Whistler, 
Currawong, Cockatoo,
His extraordinary feathers merge
with the shiny silvery slivers of mist
Calls echoing out across the valleys, 
Lyrates arranged, frond-like above his head, 
And me, watching, a small blip in a scarlet jumper,
Enveloped in the open arms of the bush

Whipbird, Whistler, 
Currawong, Cockatoo, 
Dancing on his mound, 
Impervious to the world