The noon is on the cattle-track;
the air is void of sound,
except where crows, poised burning-black,
cry to the dusty ground.
Through mulga and mirage go none
but brazen Boolee now,
scorning the mercy of the sun
beneath the niggard bough.
But suddenly the mulga stirs;
the hot leaves flash like stars;
and, threading song on wing-beat whirrs,
burst flights of gay galahs.
News Of The Sun
Rex Ingamells
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Poem topics: song, sun, wing, mercy, black, void, suddenly, beneath, sound, mirage, Print This Poem , Rhyme Scheme
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tafadzwa: good poems
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