Introduction

Have you heard the lorikeets when they get "drunk" on the berries of the umbrella tree? What a raucous noise they make! This inspired me to write the poem.

The Lorikeets

In my garden in the suburbs,
As all suburban gardeners know,
Is the land of weeds and rubbish
Whither insects hatch and grow.
It's their gnawing, biting, burrowing
That give great pain to me;
While the lorikeets are screeching
In the umbrella tree.

There the weeds they grow like fury
And the roots are thick and strong,
No matter how I pull them
They defy my garden prong.
And the nut grass tall and spindly,
Reaches right up to my knee;
While the lorikeets are screeching
In the umbrella tree.

I built a lovely bird house
That I filled with seeds each night,
To entice exotic bird life
That would fill me with delight.
But the pigeons flock around it
Chasing all the birds they see -
So the lorikeets' re still screeching
In the umbrella tree.

For the colour of the lorikeet
Is a wonder to behold!
There's green and red and yellow,
Blue and orange, even gold.
But they fight and squawk and squabble
And they drown out my TV,
When they're gobbling up the berries
In the umbrella tree.

But their squawking and their squabbling
Seem like music to my ears.
A far cry from the city traffic
That I endured for years.
So I sit back on my patio
Sipping my cup of tea.
And enjoy the lorikeets screeching
In MY umbrella tree!

Copyright; Vida Rideout
Email: vidavan@optusnet.net.au