Currawongs

I have been disappointed with some of the misanthropomorphic (?) judgmental suggestions for the collective noun for currawongs. My opinion on the matter is expressed in the little poem I wrote many years ago: *CURRAWONGS* There’s nothing wrong with currawongs Disliked, I wonder why Is it their black plumage Or their brilliant yellow eye? Is it that they’re cocksure Adept to utilise All novel opportunities As soon as they arise. They may eat eggs and fledglings And thus attract our ire But the same foods are savoured By birds that we admire. It cannot be their singing It’s rollicking, pure and clear Part of our bushland symphony And pure joy to hear. There’s nothing wrong with currawongs They may cause a little strife But I’ve never known a currawong To go home and beat his wife.