From dawn to dark they pipe the same old song
Sounds very much like curra currawong
Day in day out their music still the same
And humans call them currawong by name.
With feathers mostly black they look much like a crow
But they are different very different though
As they've got white tips on their wings and on their tails
And yellow eyes a yellow shade of pale.
Some people call pied currawong a pest
And to rid Australia of them try their best
And by farmer it has often times been said
That currawongs are better by far dead.
Pied currawong man set out to destroy
But race of currawong refused to die
They blamed them for the spread of 'prickly pear'
But man oft in his judgement prove unfair.
They congregate in flocks in early May
And nice to hear them on a Winter's day
A curra currawonging on gum trees
A pleasant sound that never fail to please.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem