Andrew Barton Paterson

White Cockatoos

Now the autumn maize is growing, 
Now the corn-cob fills, 
Where the Little River flowing 
Winds among the hills. 
Over mountain peaks outlying 
Clear against the blue 
Comes a scout in silence flying, 
One white cockatoo. 
Back he goes to where the meeting 
Waits among the trees. 
Says, ”The corn is fit for eating; 
Hurry, if you please.” 
Skirmishers, their line extendiing, 
Shout the joyful news; 
Down they drop like snow descending, 
Clouds of cockatoos. 

At their husking competition 
Hear them screech and yell. 
On a gum tree’s high position 
Sits a sentinel. 
Soon the boss goes boundary riding; 
But the wise old bird, 
Mute among the branches hiding, 
Never says a word. 

Then you hear the strident squalling: 
”Here’s the boss’s son, 
Through the garden bushes crawling, 
Crawling with a gun. 
May the shiny cactus bristles 
Fill his soul with woe; 
May his knees get full of thistles. 
Brothers, let us go.” 

Old Black Harry sees them going, 
Sketches Nature’s plan: 
”That one cocky too much knowing, 
All same Chinaman. 
One eye shut and one eye winkin’ -- 
Never shut the two; 
Chinaman go dead, me thinkin’, 
Jump up cockatoo.”