Today I grieve for beauty gone
For loveliness made desolate:
All gone, and only ash remains
With bitterness to desecrate.
No trees to rise in majesty
And build a haven sweet and green,
No ferns, no grass, no bushes left
Where little creatures rest unseen.
No bellbirds chime, no whipbirds call,
No little streams go whisp’ring by,
No magpies echo through the leaves,
No kookaburras joyous cry.
No gentle, solemn sanctuary
Where we breathe in creation’s breath,
But just a black and dreadful waste
The acrid, weary land of death.
We grieve with prayer, we sow with tears
And bowed by horror, wear the pain,
And wait still for the miracle:
The blessed benison of rain.