By Rodney Harris
Sydney is a startling city: first creating overload.
But as we get used to its ways and customs, we blend in
Oz-a-la-mode.
It seems a meeting place for cultures; easy living in the
sun.
Undulating paths and roadways; old and new blend into one.
We take many lively walks around the busy Circular Quay,
Where all the world's people come to wonder and to see…
Seeing all the buskers, as some sing and some strum,
And the didgeree-do men a-doing their strange humm.
And underfoot we tread upon a trail of brass pavers…
Remembering star visitors who've been here o'er the ages.
See! There's Barry Humphries….and look there's Germaine
Greer!
Strewth it's Rudyard Kipling! Now how did he get here?
Whilst in the Botanic Gardens, we see a peculiar sight:
Trees with big brown fruits…all a-hanging at a height.
Then when we take a closer look, they often squawk and flap
For these are Flying Foxes, half Reynard and half bat.
Come to that we've seen them flying…out after dusk…
Out over Sydney Harbour to forage as they must.
But they are now a problem: they're stripping their host
trees.
The authorities will have to act so "Come on! Move on please!"
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