On this moisty Under Milkwood morning <br />I walked buoyantly, <br />briskly <br />through late summer bush. <br /> <br />Recent rain <br />had settled the dry <br />and grateful leaves <br />sighed, <br />new-washed. <br /> <br />On the uphill side, <br />the aged eucalypts <br />stood sombre <br />and wallaby grey - <br />untouched by last year's furnace. <br /> <br />On the downhill side, <br />charcoal <br />hollowed ghosts <br />genuflected, <br />leafless and barren, <br />to their god, the sun. <br /> <br />While bold young saplings <br />black and supple thin, <br />sprouted epicormic <br />new green <br />as if to say <br />I am <br />I am. <br /> <br />A chorus of air-born squeaky toys <br />broke the silence <br />and <br />in the distance, <br />dawn danced.<br /><br />Alison Cassidy<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/a-moisty-under-milkwood-morning/
