Two little folk — like the babes in the wood,
Are wandering hand in hand ;
Music of Spring makes the deep forests ring,
So all things may understand
That there’s a “Something now seeming to say
“Let everything sing that may,
Out of the depths of a winter’s gloom
Has Spring not arisen to-day?”
Myrtle is thoughtful, her eyes fill with tears,
A look that is “far away.”
Though the surroundings are lovely, indeed,
Our eyes to the child must stray.
Lending wee Sonny, a cherub of four,
Who listens with keen delight,
“Mummy,” she tells of, in accents of love,
While striving with tears to fight.
Rounding a bend in the fern-bowered creek
They pause ’neath a wattle-tree ;
Gold-tinted blossoms are blazing with light,
An elysium for bird and for bee.
Ah ! tearful eyes, little quivering lips ;
The lassie is trying to tell
Messages tender, their dear “mummy” left
The babe that she loved so well.
“Sonny,” the little child slowly remarks,
“When mummy was . . . going away.
Up mid bright clouds she would meet us, she said,
Clouds golden as wattle to-day :
Asked me to show you the wattles in spring,
’Cause she wouldn’t be here then . . .
Oh! How I wish our dear mummy would come
And be mummy to us once again.”
The Alexandra and Yea Standard and Yarck, Gobur, Thornton and Acheron Express (Alexandra, Vic.), Friday 30 October 1908, page 3
[Editor: Corrected “would’nt” to “wouldn’t”.]