Indigenous by Zora Cross

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Not Solferino, Piedmont nor Glencoe
   Presented to Man's sight more grief than these 
   Lone cemeteries of forgotten trees
   Whose tragic skeletons, bleached white as snow, 
   Litter the hills where they were wont to grow 
   Verdant as those that in wrapt beauty seize 
   The tired traveller's eyes with cooling ease
At Canberra, leafy-clean row by row.

War knows no desolation quite so grim,
   As slaughtered trees exposed in Death's stark rest, 
   While mild sheep move in innocence apart
Cropping the grass round rotting trunk and limb.
   Wide fissures ever deepening attest
   Earth in erosion breaks her gallant heart.

First published in The Sydney Morning Herald, 29 January 1949

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This page contains a single entry by Perry Middlemiss published on January 29, 2014 7:22 AM.

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