Lyrebird

Each delicate step is gentle on the damp floor
His rufous feathers seen before
His intricate tail standing out
He lives where the evergreen will sprout

The day's light starts to die
Tiny flickering sparks settle in the sky
He roosts on the twisted branches among the rest
A new day, a new quest

They leave their marks on the dilapidated logs
Continuing their search through the early morning fog
The forest sits silent, nothing to be heard
But the sound of the lyrebird.