November by Lola Gornall

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Clover in the young, green turf,
   Like a creamy foam of surf,
Breaking earth's brown lethargy,
   With its summer's prophecy,
While up and down the red roadside
   The dandelions, like soldiers, ride,
Radiant in golden coats,  
   Emerald buttons at their throats.  

In the fields where yesterday
   Only the barren furrows lay
A thousand shoots of every grain
   Lift eager heads of hope again,
And, just returned from alien skies,
   The restless swallow in new guise,
His circling wings unfurling,
   Keeps whirling whirling, whirling.

Into dividual liberty,
   Each tiny leaf, each flower and tree,
Earth-bound and lost so long,
   Springs green, and glad, and strong. . .
Even the snail upon the thorn
   Puts forth a llttle horn,
Glad to be numbered with the least
   Partaking of November's feast.  

First published in The Sydney Morning Herald, 1 November 1924

Author reference site: Austlit

See also.

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This page contains a single entry by Perry Middlemiss published on November 1, 2012 8:05 AM.

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