Wattle Day Musings by Myra M. Campbell

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They say our wealth lies wasted,
   Our weal has ceased to be;
I doubt it much this morning,
   Beneath my Wattle Tree!

Our land has still her sunshine,
   Her blossom-scented breeze,
Her wheatfields and her goldfields,
   Her "Heritage of Trees."

A murmur of contentment,
   Comes from the cooing dove;   
The Wattle-gold's about me,
   And Heaven is still above!  

First published in The Sydney Morning Herald, 30 July 1932

Author reference site: Austlit

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This page contains a single entry by Perry Middlemiss published on July 30, 2012 9:31 AM.

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