The night cold and dark few cars pass up and down
On the dimly lit streets of the old country town
And a boobook owl calls out mopoke in the parkland nearby
To small birds the one who has death in it’s cry
Out from their homes in tree holes and house ceilings on trees in the park
The male brush tail possums can be heard calling after dark
They snarl and bite and claw in a territorial fight
To mate with the females the strongest male wins the right
The wind to it has a cold wintry sting
On the first week of August three weeks from the calendar Spring
Yet at this time of year the nesting male magpies sing day and night
And to defend their borders if needs be they fight
A night in early August in the old town a high of four degrees
With a cold and damp chill in the freshening breeze
That blow in the town through the park from the bay
Yet the calendar Spring just over thee weeks away.
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