Friday, 5 November 2010

The Garden

Wading through Outback
Hunting the plummed cricket ball
That in the pregnant clay
Had somewhere thudded.
Drenched in red and
Squidgier than dough:
Thick, sun-roasted,
Aboriginal -
And young legs sank
In the slow sponge.
Our Eden was like that.

1 comment:

  1. Love your poems sweetheart... I think short poems are particularly moving, reminiscent of a fleeting moment...