Today the woods were silent of song the woodbirds shy
Till honeyeater he tuned his flute and piped his notes of joy.
No matter what the season the day be short or long
No matter what the weather he pipes his happy song
The minstrel of the forest from tree to tree he fly
And sing amongst the gum leaves where eucalypt reach high.
A nectar eating wood bird brownish feathered like a thrush
He live in wood and scrubland doesn’t like the open bush
He drink nectar from the banksia flowers and sing from dawn till dark
This ever happy wood bird some call the ‘scrub land lark’.
I love the Spiny cheeked honeyeater the woodland’s happiest voice
At sweet sound of his bubbling notes the heart in me rejoice
No matter what the season the day be wet or dry
The woodlands feathered minstrel will sing his songs of joy.

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