Now the autumn maize is growing, <br />Now the corn-cob fills, <br />Where the Little River flowing <br />Winds among the hills. <br />Over mountain peaks outlying <br />Clear against the blue <br />Comes a scout in silence flying, <br />One white cockatoo. <br />Back he goes to where the meeting <br />Waits among the trees. <br />Says, "The corn is fit for eating; <br />Hurry, if you please." <br />Skirmishers, their line extendiing, <br />Shout the joyful news; <br />Down they drop like snow descending, <br />Clouds of cockatoos. <br /> <br />At their husking competition <br />Hear them screech and yell. <br />On a gum tree's high position <br />Sits a sentinel. <br />Soon the boss goes boundary riding; <br />But the wise old bird, <br />Mute among the branches hiding, <br />Never says a word. <br /> <br />Then you hear the strident squalling: <br />"Here's the boss's son, <br />Through the garden bushes crawling, <br />Crawling with a gun. <br />May the shiny cactus bristles <br />Fill his soul with woe; <br />May his knees get full of thistles. <br />Brothers, let us go." <br /> <br />Old Black Harry sees them going, <br />Sketches Nature's plan: <br />"That one cocky too much knowing, <br />All same Chinaman. <br />One eye shut and one eye winkin' -- <br />Never shut the two; <br />Chinaman go dead, me thinkin', <br />Jump up cockatoo."<br /><br />Andrew Barton Paterson<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/white-cockatoos/
