Colin F. Jones

MORNING’S QUEST

I have by day walked slowly by the creek
Beneath the Camphor Laurels growing there
And watched the catfish swimming as they seek
A tadpole or a larva near their lair

The Camphor boughs are perches for the birds,
White headed pigeons and the cockatoos
While muddy banks are potholed by the herds
Of thirsty cattle with their bony shoes

Sycophant shadows shorten in the light
In translucent margins silvering the stream
And Dragon Flies made hazy in mid flight
Delight the eye like fairies in a dream

A Wallaroo bounds quickly up the slope
As I hear again another Lizard splash
And a platypus darts off with wild hope
That my presence in his territory doesn’t last

A long necked Turtle is basking in the sun
Where nearby upon a log a Python rests
And in the Weeping Willows Kingfishers come
To build again their tidy little nests

Far above I see the crested hawk
Drift with elegance in the buoyant air
As round the bend I hear some Black Ducks squawk
As they shuffle through the reeds with greater care

Soon it will rain for clouds are drifting nigh
To challenge all the diaphanous light
And lightning’s tracers are zibbing through the sky
Across the sandstone cliffs made orange bright

Underneath a Camphor Bough I rest
My back against the sturdy perfumed trunk
And there I think I failed my morning’s quest
For I fell asleep as would a happy drunk