Winter Morning by Myra Morris

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A smoky silver lifts 
Above the plain.
The cows move through dissolving drifts 
Distorted and immense, and stand
By the black pools where ice has lain.
Broken the ice like splintered globes of glass 
Among the needle-reeds and water-grass. 
Clotted in white the frog-spawn floats.
The duck-weed crusts stems old and drowned. 
And hark, with a round 
Of notes
The butcher-birds rejoice,
And the sharp-edged, metallic sound 
Of a driven cross-saw cuts
The frosty air to ribbons and becomes 
The morning's lusty voice!

First published in The Sydney Morning Herald, 7 August 1943

Author reference sites: AustlitAustralian Dictionary of Biography

See also.

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This page contains a single entry by Perry Middlemiss published on August 7, 2014 7:20 AM.

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