Today, it’s words, not pictures. Everything else is half finished, so I don’t want to show it.
After dust, dirt, clamour and stress,
To lie flat in clean white sheets
In dawn’s pearl light, and hear
A strange bird sing, bell-toned.
After grinding traffic, fumes and smoke,
To sit relaxed in early morning calm
With eyes closed against warm sun
And smell the scent of gums.
After danger, threat, fear and and anger,
To walk a quiet twilight street alone
Past lamplit, peaceful windows and
Possums playing on the roof.
After grey and grime and bitter earth,
To bury my hands in young, rich soil
And watch astonished as
The Bird of Paradise flowers, triumphant.