Her Majesty's Nature

Buried amongst olive green leaves
Pink camillias attract a brilliant flash
Yellow and white but barely seen
The Honeyeater does his mad dash

Beyond, in the tall Norfolk pine
A Currawong rests and preens
His feathers black against a pale winter sky
A smudge in the depths of the evergreen

Across the garden, comes her majesty
Ginger and caramel and eyes everywhere
In the cool bright light of the afternoon
She sees all these as possible fare

But the Honeyeater chirps his protest
And the Currawong chortles to warn her
Where ever her majesty chooses to wander
She’ll find no fodder in this garden's fauna

The Wattlebird hears, as does the Dove
Who naps in the Mango tree
But the Mynahs ignore the warning call
And carry on fossicking heedlessly

A flick of her tail and down on her haunches
She gathers herself to launch an attack
But the Mynahs see her and take to the sky
She misses the chance of a feathered snack

It’s her nature to stalk and chase
Even though she is so very well fed
But soon she gives up on this fruitless task
To retire to her blanket at the end of my bed