WHEN THE COOTAMUNDRA WATTLE BLOOMS AGAIN

 

WHEN THE COOTAMUNDRA WATTLE BLOOMS AGAIN …. Maureen Clifford ©The #ScribblyBarkPoet

 

 

Roses bloomed in profusion on the trellis.

Shades of yellow, red and pink and snowy white.

The air was softly scented by these colourful beauties,

but the wattle blossom filled him with delight.

He’d taken cattle on the road, for they’d run out of feed

 and the balance in the bank was getting low.

She stayed home with the children to keep the homefires going,

to protect their lambs from death by fox and crow.

 

She waved goodbye from their home’s front verandah.

“You’ll be right” she heard him say as he drew rein.

“I’ll only be a month or so and then love I’ll be back

just as Cootamundra wattle blooms again.

Take care of yourself and our kids and keep the rifles loaded,

don't forget to shed the ewes and newborn lambs.

I've chopped and stacked enough wood, to keep the fires burning

 if there's trouble Jimmy Mac knows where I am.

 

 

I ‘ll return when Cootamundra wattle blooms over the plain,

and together we can laze away a day.

Wait for my return, keep watch; I won’t be long my darling

then beneath the wattle blossoms we can lay.”

 

The endless days weighed heavy on her shoulders,

 darkness of night now seemed to linger long.

She missed her husbands' company, this man she held so dear

though this harsh and lonely life had made her strong.

She knew that he’d be back when golden wattle bloomed again,

when a sea of yellow blooms festooned the track.

He would return home to her and their homestead on the plain.

For the scent of wattle always called him back.

 

Above the distant hills the dark clouds gathered,

In the distance lightning flashed and lit the sky.

The smell of sulphur lingered in the hot and humid air,

as rain plopped onto soil dusty and dry.

Heaven opened its sluice gates, blessed rain filled the contours

Rusting gutters overflowed, the tank was full.

Water trickled into dams that had been dry and empty.

Ran the creeks that had been dank and stagnant pools.

 

I‘ll return when Cootamundra wattle blooms over the plain,

and together we can laze away a day.

Wait for my return, keep watch; I won’t be long my darling

then beneath the wattle blossoms we can lay.”

 

 

A mile from home he tried to cross a gully.

He’d been on the road to home now for a week.

He didn’t want to wait another minute or an hour,

separated from his woman by this creek.

His tired horse lost its footing, the causeway had washed away.

It fell hard and in the currents flow horse rolled.

The brave and valiant animal worked desperately to rise.

but alas its rider relinquished his hold.

 

His body tossed and tumbled in the water

midst debris washed downstream from the higher hill.

Discarded by the torrent on a bank of river scree

magpies sang a eulogy o’er body still.

They found him in the morning when his horse had made it home

to the front gate where it waited patiently

with knees all torn and bleeding and no saddle on its back.

What had happened was for all quite plain to see.

 

His plain and simple coffin four mates carried.

On the top his boots, Akubra and a spray

of Cootamundra wattle shining brightly in the sun,

as they lowered him into his final grave.

‘When Cootamundra wattle blooms again love I’ll be back’

the last words he spoke to her just as he left.

True to his word he now lay ‘neath them alongside the track

with his girl kneeling beside him quite bereft.

 

 

He'd returned as the Cootamundra wattle bloomed again.

Now forever in a lonely grave he lay.

She kept watch as she had promised o'er the one she called her darling,

as she would until her time came, come what may.