FEATURE - RAINFOREST SPRING

 The winter silence is broken.

The forest choir starts to hum.

The wind from the north blows accompaniment.

The frogs in the dam beat the drum.

The catbird wails from the canopy.

The whip bird cracks to his mate.

The currawong urgently calling,

To find love before it’s too late.

The flycatcher sashays and darts

Like a sprite through the raspberry canes.

A young joey views the world from its pouch

And sleepily vanishes again.

The bower bird sets his stage

With meticulous gifts of blue.

The rifle bird practices his flourishes

For all the ladies to view.

The whistler rehearses his repertoire.

The heron stalks fish by the creek.

The wedge-tail hunts in a crystalline sky

Ready with talon and beak.

The saplings push evermore skyward,

Jostling for light and for space.

Like a show with unlimited season,

Each actor knowing their place.

And while mankind frets about meaning and purpose

With problems of day-to-day strife,

The forest folk keep relentlessly singing

The truth, that the MEANING IS LIFE…

 Sandra Poole