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Banjo Paterson - A Singer of the Bush
Work rating: Low

There is a waving of grass in the breeze
And a song in the air,
And a murmur of myriad bees
That toil everywhere.
There is scent in the blossom and bough,
And the breath of the Spring
Is as soft as a kiss on a brow —
And Springtime I sing.
There is drought on the land, and the stock
Tumble down in their tracks
Or follow — a tottering flock —
The scrub-cutter`s axe.
While ever a creature survives
The axes shall swing;
We are fighting with fate for their lives —
And the combat I sing.
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