End of Drought by Mabel Forrest

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The yellow ochre walls are turned to gold;
   A swimming spout makes silver overflow;
The grey hills gather cloud smocks fold on fold,
   And changed is every landmark that we know

On sunny days. The shallow, shingled roof
   Is charcoal grey. With tight-closed lips
The pink snap-dragons hold themselves aloof
   From wild, wet kisses. Where the brick wall drips

The rain is dancing, splashing on the stone;
   The stiff umbrella-tree begins to sway;
The hard, dull leaves of zinnias alone
   Burn a red fire of blossom through the grey.

The banners of the storm drive east and south,
   And on the waters trail like skeins of wool;
A seagull, driven from the river's mouth,
   Screams like a ghost that haunts a fatal pool.

We in the city streets, who smile and pass,
   Call to each other that the drought is done,
Dreaming a world made wonderful with grass,
   And waves of wheat that shimmer in the sun.

First published in The Sydney Mail, 5 January 1927

Author reference sites: AustlitAustralian Dictionary of Biography

See also.

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This page contains a single entry by Perry Middlemiss published on January 5, 2014 9:24 AM.

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