FINDING PEACE.

 

FINDING PEACE.

Maureen Clifford  ©  The #ScribblyBarkPoet  

Listen to the Plover's call, sharp, raucous and alarming

those tiny birds with bravest hearts look so sweet and disarming.

They feign a broken wing to draw the predators away

from fragile nest with un-hatched eggs that in grass tussocks lay.

 

Beneath the harvest moon the dingo hunts with tawny mate.

Beware this hunter, fast of foot – a cur, who speculates

for just a moment fleeting as the curlew nest he spies,

 he knows full well they're armed with spurs – and knows to watch his eyes.

 

The steamy heat of summer days at nighttime cloaks the land

in stifling embrace.  No cooling breeze.  We understand

our country with its sunburnt plains and azure skies above.

Our country’s full of contrast – It’s a country that we love.

 

All by myself I sit and watch the land in contemplation,

in night-time stillness, far away from city conflagration.

No city malls, designer stores or sushi shops and bars.

Out here it's just the land and me, beneath a million stars.

 

The gentle murmur of the creek, the soft mutter of ewes.

The sharp staccato rattle of the stock horse’s hooves.

Majestic owl silently snatches small marsupial things.

His evening meal.  A hunter quiet - a stealth bomber on wings.

 

Here, five hours from the city lights at peace in my domain

without the fripperies. Most city folks would loudly claim

they are deprived – no phone, no I -Pod, all here’s quiet and calm.

The peace and the serenity – a soft and healing balm.