Weekend at Wayamba

Weekend at Wayamba

On the lawn’s margins a blue wren
And his dowdy mate, farthing birds,
Patter and bob, cock heads and fly
Friday at four, we’re home to Wayamba

Angophora said Rosie, not gum
Stringy Bark Iron Bark Grey Gum
Peeling to glorious orange
Countless giants under deepest sky blue

A place of story book wonder
At the end of the trail, tin roof
Half hidden, verandah spread wide
For shelter and shade, for peace and retreat

You toil in your garden with love
For this land, teach me of wattle,
Eustraphus called wombat berry
Fruiting bright yellow like the robin’s breast

We walk and we talk, stopping here
To pull up fleabane, a war
Without end on the forest floor
As distantly the clever lyre bird calls

Mice in the cupboard, goanna
Lumbering by, Zach’s on the roam
So we’re all keeping watch, old friends
Together under Australian skies

See what you started, dear friends
Worlds away that April Sunday
Children and grandchildren, our lives
Together, we give you thanks and our love


For Rosie and Donald, 30th March 30, 2009