Now, with the turn of the year, as days grow appreciably longer after the winter solstice, soaking rains have fallen; bringing discomfort to some, but unalloyed joy to the many places where rain was most urgently needed.

The daylight is waxing,
   The long, dreary night,
Our tempers once taxing,
   Now flees before light --
Now flees before day;
   For the darkness is waning.
But, alas, who can say
   How rain may be raining?
How skies may be raining
   Ere winter be done
To end our complaining?
   Come sun?  Come sun!

The thrushes are singing
   By hill and by creek.
They are blissfully winging,
   With straws in the beak --
With straws for the nest
   And with fern and with feather
They toil with a zest
   In the wettest of weather --
In all sorts of weather
   They toil as they sing.
Too soon altogether
   Come spring!  Come spring!

With snuffling and sneezing,
   With wool next the skin,
With coughing and sneezing,
   Wrapped up to the chin --
Wrapped up, we complain;
   For there's none could be numb-er,
In cold wind and rain
   We grow glummer and glummer --
Wrapped round, we grow glummer --
   Each peevish cocoon.
Ah, Summer, Sweet Summer,
   Come soon!  Come soon!

But out in the Mallee,
   By Wimmera's plains,
By rain-rejoiced valley
   They're counting their gains --
They are counting their cheer
   They are finished with grumbling.
The turn of the year! 
   Now the little creeks tumbling --
Rain-fed they go tumbling
   To join the refrain
Of wide rivers rumbling.
   "The rain!  The rain!"

"Den"
Herald, 6 July 1934, p6