Grasp the pine cones with their powerful claws and shred them for the seed
And dropp the shredded cones to earth when they have had their feed.
On this the third day of Winter the white backed magpie sing
From branch high on the stringybark his flute like music ring
And on the lush grasses by the pond the dappled wood duck graze
Whilst others of their kin their feathers preen and in the sunshine laze.
On this the third day of Winter the butcherbird’s song I hear
And did I not know what time of year it was I’d swear that Spring was here
Two days back the chilly gales blew fierce and the rain came lashing down
And now the sun is shining bright on the paddocks by the Town.
On this the third day of Winter the sun shines in clear sky
And myna with the scratchy song is singing as he fly
And a few days back it rained all day and the gums soughed in the wind
But as Shakespeare once wrote ‘If Winter comes can Spring be far behind’