The river runs through the birdlands.
   Each isle is alive with their nests.
 The course is skimmed by pelicans,
   snatching fish to later digest.

The croc is hunting those waters,
   just eyes and stony tail peeks out.
 It'd love a fish, snake, or otter,
   but food 's any meat near its snout.

The bird that flies into its gullet,
   the tourist dangling limb from the boat.
 If it could find freshwater mullet,
   it wouldn't eat that armless farmer's goat.