The Last Wallaby

I touch the crumbling dirt on my four paws,
The tangled roots underneath the floor,
I hear the young pardalotes chirr from their nests,
High above among the branches,
The jack jumpers spring into life,
Finding their innocent victim to bite,
Caterpillars – lady bugs – butterflies galore,
Wallabies – ducks – and the platypus,
the king of them all,
Rustling of the three white, red and black chickens,
The coruscate of light through the rooftop trees,
Hydrangea – and daisies amongst the thorny meadow,
Birch – spruce – and oak,
Along the path of the unforgettable route,
The mint odour let out by the eucalyptus tree,
Like a fragrant steam pouring out of the diffuser,
I bounce behind the bushes,
Two chickens remain,
I hurriedly scurry back to my home,
But it was too late.