I don't know if this is interesting, but some rewrites occurred in
the shower - I should have said that this poem that arrived this
morning -
I'm not supposed to be writing poems! But is anyone?
A
my father's olives
are bearing their first fruits
hard green nubs
among the speechless leaves
in a century or so
the wind will grace this grove
with a scattering of silver
footprints on darkness
and who will name the man
who planted these saplings
in a rabbit-cropped paddock
knowing more than he said
when he soaked the hot dust
so roots grew deep enough
to slumber through drought
and keep the ancient promise
black and plump and bitter
in their knotty hands
--
Alison Croggon
Editor
Masthead Online
http://au.geocities.com/masthead_2/
Home page
http://www.users.bigpond.com/acroggon/
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