Hapalochlaena

Nature spoke when they landed,
the leaves on the trees falling
around their feet and whispering
"go back, go back". She warned the people
that this land is not ours, we only borrow
the space above it.

Nature spoke when they made their homes,
ousted the folk living in harmony here,
and tried to tame her; her rivers rose
and the dams they built flooded;

still, we didn't listen. Nature sighed
a rustle of bushes, and left the people
to their bustle and noise. We learned
the hard way:

be wary of the koala -- she bites,
be wary of the kangaroo -- he kicks,
be wary of the wombat -- he's built
like a battering ram, and your Fourbie will lose.

Don't cross the cassowary -- he bites,
he kicks, he'll charge you and you
won't win; don't cross the crocodile --
his waters are his world.

Check your loos, check your shoes
and mind the snakes on the loose,
ignore the bees and biting flies
but don't brush against the gympie gympie
or you'll wish you'd found a different tree.

Whatever you do, don't collect shells
at the beach -- the coney
will kill you as you lift him. Don't wander
barefooted in the rock pools
or near a jetty -- if the jellies
don't get you, the stonefish will.

Nature snuggles down, her toes
warmed by bushfires and reminds herself
she warned us, Australia's not here
for the faint at heart, or the people
with too-white (now too-red) skin. Nature
built a home here for the flora,
the fauna, and the folk
nested in her centre.