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.
