Vonda Stanley's collection of early Australian bush poems




It's singing in and out

And feeling full of grace;

Here and there, up and down,

And round about the place.


It's rolling up your sleeves,

And whitening the hearth,

And scrubbing out the floors,

And sweeping down the path:


It's baking tarts and pies,

And shining up the knives;

And feeling like some days

Was worth a thousand lives.


It's watching out the door,

And watching by the gate;

And watching down the road,

And wondering why he's late;


And feeling anxious-like,
For fear there's something wrong;

And wondering why he's kept,

And why he takes so long.


It's coming back inside

And sitting down a spell,

To sort of make believe

You're thinking things is well.


It's getting up again

And wandering in and out;

And feeling wistful-like,

Not knowing what about;


And flushing all at once

And smiling just so sweet,

And feeling read proud

The place is fresh and neat.


And feeling awful glad

Like them that watched Siloam;

And everything because

A man is coming home!

Mary Gilmore b.1865

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