The low droning sound of the dark brown honey bees
Gathering nectar from the flowering plants and blossoming trees
And nesting birds singing in garden and park
From the early dawn till the gloam before dark.
The whistle of the gray shrike thrush so melodious and clear
One of the sounds of November that one does love to hear
And the blackbird and the magpie their familiar notes ring
In the parklands and gardens all through the balmy Spring.
Were I born a poet I'd feel happy to write
Of butterflies flitting in the warm sunlight
But 'tis the sounds of November I enjoy most of all
Like the butcherbird's song and the wattlebird's call.
The cacklings of the kookaburras on their favourite tree
And the song of the goldfinch and the call of the pee wee
And the sounds of November so pleasant to hear
It is such a beautiful time of the year.
Gathering nectar from the flowering plants and blossoming trees
And nesting birds singing in garden and park
From the early dawn till the gloam before dark.
The whistle of the gray shrike thrush so melodious and clear
One of the sounds of November that one does love to hear
And the blackbird and the magpie their familiar notes ring
In the parklands and gardens all through the balmy Spring.
Were I born a poet I'd feel happy to write
Of butterflies flitting in the warm sunlight
But 'tis the sounds of November I enjoy most of all
Like the butcherbird's song and the wattlebird's call.
The cacklings of the kookaburras on their favourite tree
And the song of the goldfinch and the call of the pee wee
And the sounds of November so pleasant to hear
It is such a beautiful time of the year.
