On this moisty Under Milkwood morning
I walked buoyantly,
briskly
through late summer bush.
Recent rain
had settled the dry
and grateful leaves
sighed,
new-washed.
On the uphill side,
the aged eucalypts
stood sombre
and wallaby grey -
untouched by last year's furnace.
On the downhill side,
charcoal
hollowed ghosts
genuflected,
leafless and barren,
to their god, the sun.
While bold young saplings
black and supple thin,
sprouted epicormic
new green
as if to say
I am
I am.
A chorus of air-born squeaky toys
broke the silence
and
in the distance,
dawn danced.
Alison Cassidy
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/a-moisty-under-milkwood-morning/
