Becoming conscious
one eye
then
the other
oh good
a grey day
rare
in this land of relentless sunshine
Roots that lie
north of the equator
long for moisture
balm for
a poet's soul
Damp remnants
mark the footpaths
where rain fell
in the night
Bird seed turned to porridge
Yet they come
for a breakfast of gruel
I see
as I plunge my morning fix
Write about us!
screech the cockies
The galahs doth protest
NO, us!
While the laughing one
perches silently
knowing
this will be his story
his tribute
his victory verse
How does he know
he is favoured
above the others?
the more colourful
the more animated
the seed eaters
this confident king
his merriment obvious
loud and proud
the high branches of gum trees
surely extend
for him
and him alone
And so he laughs
knowing
his crown
is secure
his bush king status
solid
despite that green and red one
that plots daily
to dethrone him
Those complimentary colours
no match for his
subtle aqua swath
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