Well above the boulder-lined mountain creek,
its tangled profusion of vine and tree,
the spreading glory of the strangler fig
and remnant cedar’s towering beauty,
where the mountain steeply slopes,
filtered sun casts a dappled light,
tall trees grow from leaf-littered ground,
stop and stand still in hushed delight.
Two young lyre birds cavort and display,
practising for some more urgent time
their dance, spread of tail and joy of song
with beauty far beyond the power of rhyme.
Their tail is two curves of yellow and black,
enclosing silver gossamer wisp,
as seemingly delicate and coloured
as dew-filled web or wind-blown mist.
This glory they arch over their backs,
graceful, delicate, surprising long,
then dancing a quick, little staccato bob
pour from their throat liquid miracle of song.
Mimicry of diverse forest sounds
in effortless beauty from their throat pours-
kookaburra’s laugh, whip bird’s soar and crack,
king parrot, rosella and many unknown more.
Hush! The vault is blue, white and green,
there are ethereal slants of light,
great supporting buttress columns of trees,
and a choir praising in unrestrained delight.
Walk quietly away from this pure moment
with feelings privileged and sublime,
a heart full of wonder and gratitude,
a sense of a glimpse into the divine,
For on that on that leaf-littered mountainside
with effortless beauty these small birds raise,
without tuition or much thumbed page,
a wondrous hymn of beauty and praise.