The Gray Butcherbird Poem by Francis Duggan

I see him very often in Springtime every day
On wattle tree in the back yard in his cloak of dark and gray
You hear him once and sight unseen you cannot get him wrong
The bird with the melodious voice and flute like bubbling song.

In late Winter and through the Spring gray Butcherbirds act quite aggressively
And without provocation they attack for sake of family
And I have often been attacked whilst walking through their territory
And on one occasion one with beak and claws drew a trickle of blood from me.

They build an open nest of sticks on high branch of taller tree
And at nesting time towards their feathered kind they don't act neighbourly
Around his invisible borders the male bird sings all day
And the message in his bubbling song from our patch 'keep away'.

Like butcher who hangs his meat on hooks on thorns they impale their prey
The reason that they are called butcherbirds the well informed say
And at the many wonders of Nature the wonders in me grow
And of birds and plants and animals so little I still know.

On the wattle tree in the backyard I often hear him sing
At daybreak in the morning all through the days of Spring
Familiar and distinctive his song with you remain
And you only have to hear him once and you know his voice again.