Golden red the sunset at the end of a summer’s day,
Bright silver the moon in the starlit night sky.
The owl sits in the highest tree,
scanning the ground for its prey.

With a silent rush of mighty wings,
The bird swoops -
and one life is exchanged for another.

Misty white the early dawn as the owl retires to sleep,
Soft grey her feathers, warming her restless young.
The lyrebird wakes from its nest below,
greeting the world with song.

With a final masterful flourish,
The bird waits –
and one call is answered by another.

Grey-green the eucalypts where the lyrebirds court and dance,
Light brown the splendid tail as the male displays his wares.
The currawong cries in its mournful voice,
while the kookaburra laughs at us all.

Inge Meldgaard

2010