Member Poem

When springtime comes to Aussieland
and you’ve the urge to walk the strand
with rascally Fido or frisky Rover,
try not to stress the Hooded Plover,
sandy-brown and black and white
and sporting a bill that’s ruby-bright.
You might detect a tubby pair
plucking fleas from the beach’s hair
or darting on pink-as-coral legs,
or come across a couple of eggs
atop a dune or above high tide.
But if your eyes are occupied
by cumuli, or you’re in a rush,
tough paws or sandaled feet could crush
those grey-brown-speckled entities.
Why don’t these birds make nests in trees
like rational birds? Are they deranged
for laying on a coast that’s changed?
Their eggs are camouflaged; a fox
might well pass by them on his walks.
Yet, lately, there’s a bigger worry
than prowling creatures, fanged and furry.
Let’s pray the writing on the sand
is not too bleak in Aussieland.