Strong and silent this heart beats
When into magnanimous solitude I retreat.
Where, If not in the country, can one be so still, in heart and mind and body?
And time does take me as she will
Until such moment unto which I pursue some unknown glory.
At present, the wind touches lightly upon me
And with no intention to push forward nor inhibit
I do no more than enjoy her soft caress
Worldly, mighty, untamed, free.
Hot and sickly from the west she travels.
Bringing with her fear of fire by which sweating profusely we so respectfully heed her warning. Clearing dead wood and wetting down timber rafters. Her friendship with the flame out yonder Yarrabin or elsewhere in the nation causes us to listen astutely to crackling voices on the low frequency radio stations.
Then sweet relief when from the South she transpires. Cool and saline, a memory of winter.
Fetch us now a jacket, for with moist breath she does so make us shiver.
The danger has passed and my mind returns to dreaming.
When I leave this sanctum where shall I go?
Once more to the nest of mother oh so caring? Or reckless and full of adventurous spirit set out for gran Sao Paolo?
Or is it to the books I go? Or to the cog and wheel of capitalism steadily turning?
Indecision creeps in now and haunts me, and with pangs of detached melancholy this blissful scene is wasted in the tragedy of my hopeless youth. Neither am I able to stay long in this quiet place nor have I to leave this space, any such yearning.