A short piece about our beautiful climate…



Summer comes
Cicadas sing, the Bellbirds call
Bushfires cast an awful pall
Brassy skies, clouds piled high,
Fat drops of rain through hot still air.

Autumn comes
Chainsaws sing and wood smoke curls
through glades of greys and greens and pearls.
Birds visit less and nights are cold,
Mists and fogs around us fold.

Winter comes
The frosts are here and cold winds hurl
cruel fingers into one and all.
No birds or blossoms to be seen,
Its winter cold and cruel and keen.

Spring comes
The mornings dawn with sun and light,
Birds singing loud in dawns first flight.
The smell of grass and blossom and gum,
A promise of summer stiil to come.


1 Comment (+add yours?)

  1. leaf27
    Jul 12, 2011 @ 13:21:54

    That’s good Annie. I like the imagery, especially the Autumn, “through glades of greys and greens and pearls”…


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