Poem Category: All

fresh pink paint
she asks
will her toy pram dry

squeezed
by the drought
some Gum trees weeping

fairy tales
chasing
her fear to dream

guided to us
by the shifts of stars
migrating geese

a late picnic
the sunset’s
polished lake

a lunch-time jog
dodging
the smells of the city

afternoon sun
airing for our party
her little black dress

so small in my arms…
I cradle the child
from bad dreams

a beach breeze
salt coats
all their parked cars

answering
our drought
a few perfectly black clouds