-
The
sky is dull and overcast,
-
And
though the clouds are high
-
We
hope that there will be come rain
-
For
all the creeks are dry.
-
’Tis
six months now since last we heard
-
The
laughter of the rills,
-
The
happy rippling gurgling streams
-
That
trickle down the hills.
-
Right
down the vale the fires swept
-
A
week ago to-day,
-
And
now there’s just 8 blackened waste
-
Where
once wall green and grey.
-
The
birds and beasts in terror fled
-
Before
the wall of flame
-
That
hissed and roared relentlessly,
-
Destroying
as it came.
-
The
ferns and shrubs and flowers gay
-
That
grew beneath the trees
-
Were
swallowed by the ruthless rush
-
Of
dame swept down the breeze.
-
And
e’en the tallest strongest trees
-
Are
black and badly charred,
-
For
though they’re victors In the fight,
-
Their
boles are burnt and scarred.
-
|
-
I
felt that it would hurt to see
-
The
bush so desolate,
-
’Twas
just as though a much-loved
friend
-
Bad
met a dreadful fate.
-
I
thought that f would stay away
-
Until
we’d bed some rein,
-
I’d
wait until the flowers grew,
-
And
all be fair again.
-
But
came a low insistent call
-
From
hills and valleys bare,
-
A
voice that celled for sympathy,
-
For
love in its despair.
-
It
urged me out to weep with it,
-
The
sadness dulled my brain,
-
So
how Could I desert a, friend
-
That
called to me in paint
-
And
do you know that as I walked
-
Along
the track to-day,
-
J
saw some tiny bright green shoots
-
Beside
the blackened wept
-
It
must have been the dew that fell
-
Between
the eve and morn
-
That
coaxed their heads above the sail
-
And
bade them be reborn.
-
|