Passing amid the deepest shade
Of the wood's dark, sombre heart,
Last night I saw a wounded deer
Laid lonely and apart.

(A well-known animal in both the city and the bush, the brush-tailed possum makes its presence felt, wherever it lives!)

 Source Wiki

The beauty of this creature
Is his one redeeming feature,
For he's not my favourite animal today.
He is really very pretty,
So I feel it's quite a pity
He behaves in such an antisocial way. 

Sweet dreams form a shade,
O'er my lovely infants head.
Sweet dreams of pleasant streams,
By happy silent moony beams.

Written in his cell, November 18, 1915, on the eve of his execution

My will is easy to decide,
For there is nothing to divide.
My kind don't need to fuss and moan --
"Moss does not cling to a rolling stone.

Listen Here

I would be one with the dark, dark earth:--
Follow the plough with a yokel tread.
I would be part of the Indian corn,
Walking the rows with the plumes o'erhead.