MY family holds many kinds:
The red, the white of brow, the brown;
And each a life’s employment finds
Where rugged gum-trees lift a crown
    Up to the kind, life-giving sun
    And here live I, the prying one.

Round and round the trunk I go,
    Ever upward, round and round,
While my long, prehensile toe
    Gives me foothold safe and sound.
To the ragged bark I cling;
    A merry forager am I:
I sing and search and search and sing,
    And in the crannies peep and pry.

“Woodpecker” some would have me styled:
    But well they know, the gum-trees tall,
That my assaults are passing mild
    And most beneficent withal.
To hunt the “wog” is my affair,
    To sing awhile, then softly steal
And drag him from his darksome lair
    To be a merry songster’s meal.

So round and round the tree I go,
    Round and round and ever up
And many a secret place I know
    Where I may royally dine or sup.
From tree to tree, from dawn to dark.
    I sing and search and search and sing,
About the ragged storm-scarred bark
    To make a merry banqueting.