Autumn in my Australia (or, there’s no E in this poem)

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as chlorophyll starts to atrophy

an individual capillary turns blood-bright

colour crawls up fractal-stalks

and an orchard canopy is alight

 

within a fortnight, as Sol’s arc shrinks

topmost boughs sport a rich blush

illustrating all tints of crimson

as if with a manic artist’s brush

 

but this gown is for immigrants

tardy arrivals, from frigid lands

not for primordial Gondwanans

who know what Mama Gaia plans

 

for though it’s chilly, it won’t snow

our banksias now glow in bloom

skinks still hunt around stringybark roots

and I’ll pick saffron milk caps soon

 

 

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5 thoughts on “Autumn in my Australia (or, there’s no E in this poem)

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