This poem wanted to rhapsodize about the love song of the superb
lyrebird (his real name), who flares tail and struts atop his display area, a stage
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which he erects for his desired mate. He mimics every bird (a few) of every species
(not even close) in fantastic vocalization never before heard (true) in all of Australia
or the world—a mobbing throng of songbirds, fricative squawks and trilling cries of panic
at the approach of a predator (frantic wingbeats included). This poem ached
to swoon at the skill and ardor laid at her passerine feet. But the liar
bird, it turns out, sings to deceive her into thinking she cannot leave him because
she will be attacked instantly by a predator (as she is), and as he mounts her, he covers
her eyes with a hood of his beating wings.
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