I'd crossed the hot Australian plain
From Bourke to Yantabulla,
Thinking to catch a northbound train
That went to Cunnamulla.
But first I spotted as I strolled
This wondrous bird, all blue and gold,
A Cooper's Parrot, I was told.
I watched it as it looped and rolled
And, when it landed, buttonholed
The flying flash of colour.
It spoke, as Cooper's Parrots do,
In tones of purest 'Strine.
Your train may not be early, blue,
There ain't no railway line.
(A life in ornithology
Is seldom blighted by ennui.)
I thanked the parrot over tea
And said if he were to agree
I would rename him after me.
He thought that sounded fine.
Then, anxious not to press my luck,
On his advice I left by truck.
The parrot, shortly after that,
Became Town Clerk in Ballarat.
Joe Pamanian