The Sherbrooke woods are shrouded in gray fog
And Spring seem far so very far away.
The magpie pipe on windblown blackwood tree
And rain clouds gather in the wintery sky
But grass is growing and Winter weather mild
And blue wren sing on fifth day of July.
The currawongs have piped since dawn of day
They sing the same notes over and again
In Winter they come down from higher hills
And ‘currawong’ before and during rain.
The black faced cuckoo shrike live miles away
Her wings have taken her to warmer clime
But she’ll be back in not too distant day
To raise her brood in Sherbrooke in Springtime.
It’s rained all morning and the sun doesn’t shine
And wattles are in bloom and magpie sing
And Sherbrooke woods are shrouded in gray fog
And near sixty days till the first breath of Spring.

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