All seems so dark under a moonless sky
And the repetitive sound of the nocturnal boobook's cry
Echo in the quietness of the night
On the tall gum trees on the wooded height
Though not frosty cold a high of a few degrees
And a soft whistling sound come to me in the freshening breeze
The wombat has his borders to defend
Males of his own kind could never become his friend
The cries of the breeding spur wing plovers I can hear
Perhaps a fox to where their nest is might be prowling near
And if he found their nest their blotched eggs he would eat
To a fox's taste buds such a thing does taste sweet
Save for the calls of nocturnal wildlife all seems calm and still
And the Winter night air though not frosty does have a slight chill.