First light beside the Murray in Mildura,Which like a drift of mist pervadesThe eucalypt arcades,A pale caesura
Dividing night and day. Two, three clear notesTo usher in the dawn are heardFrom a pied butcherbird,A phrase that floats
So slowly through the silence-thickened air,Those notes, like globules labouringThrough honey, almost clingAnd linger there.
Or is it that the notes themselves prol ... (read more)