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Micky Miner

Edward S. Sorenson

In forest country oft is heard
That bold, assertive bushland bird
    The Noisy Miner, whose shrill cry
Gives warning to all creatures near
When strangers in his haunts appear,
The while he peeks with canting ear,
    An impish twinkle in his eye.

Since preying prowlers he annoys,
I welcome Micky Miner’s noise;
    I like him for his friendly cheek,
I like him for the warning cries
That show some danger he descries
When with his merry mate he flies
    Among the box-trees by the creek.

A restless, chatting stickybeak,
He’s here and there, with skip and squeak,
    As if he had a world to mind;
And while the ground birds start and quake,
His fuss and noise the echoes wake
When in the grass he sees a snake,
    The foe of furred and feathered kind.

No flutelike note nor gift of song
Endears him as he drifts along,          
    An ever-prying sentinel;
He’s “Squeaker,” “Snake Bird,” “Screeching Mick,”
Who loudly clamors “Quick, be quick!”
But when he’s quiet in scrubland thick
    The bushfolk know that all is well.

In many names has spread his fame,
This honey-eater, spry and game,
Who keeps an eye on bush and yard:
The Boori Boori black men know,
The Soldier Bird where stockmen go,
And to the wild life, high and low,
The wary Watchbird there on guard.

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