Down by the Mitchell river,
where the rushes sway,
bubbles and foam-bobs hurry:
no dawdling on the way;
but we must step by gingerly,
treading from stone to stone,
for Time has made inroads on us
and presses on the bone.
Along the Mitchell river,
white waters sing their joys;
and the turquoise dragonfly
suns by the river's voice.
Along the Mitchell river
this stilly sunny day
a faint breeze, sostenuto,
stirs leaves, cantabile.
A magpie's thoughtful warble's
carried on current's back;
pied currawong's alarm call
paces the hawk's straight track.
Locusts by the dirtway
flash yellow as they flit
eucalypt blossom steals a breath,
for reverie most fit.
Harlequin beetles stir themselves,
nimbly skittering on.
vividities through couch grass
a heady, scattering throng.
Breeze furrows dun-brown waters,
sunned serpent swims upstream,
for myths seek their beginnings
while rivers seaward dream.
