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!"
|Copyright © Perry Middlemiss 2003-06|