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The Aussie bush

Walking along in the bush

the Aussie bush

It’s not Kensington Park

and neither is there

a lark singing

high up in the

English sky

No—and why?

Because it’s the Aussie bush..

Crackling leaves and branches..

Butcher bird high above

calling sweetly tunefully

to the sky..

And its mate

waiting until we walked away

before it sang its song

And the throng of bees

or flies or whatever

murmuring in the drowsy day

would never ever be heard

the same way

in Kensington Park