We ran from a shower of rainbow rain
Through a scatter of silver drops
That chased the sunlight over the plain
Till the cloud moved on and the bow again
Was bridging the mountain tops.
We hid in an old gum's hollow bole,
Watching the white drops dance;
Then all of a sudden soul met soul
And lip met lip, and the patterned whole
Of our being changed at a glance.
So the tale was never a fantasy,
A myth or a fairy story.
The crock of gold and the magic key
We found them both at the foot of a tree
At the end of the rainbow's glory.
Still we are lucky, we two grown old --
With a joy of a different blend.
Ever so good to have and to hold,
But where, oh, where is the fairy gold
We found at the rainbow's end?
First published in The Australian Woman's Mirror, 26 November 1952
