The sun sinks slowly in my path
It floods in driving light,
The western plains lay wide and bare,
But manna to my sight.
Golden grass waves serenely,
Evening sky unfolds above,
Deepening blue frames the scene
Coming home to my true love
The air stands still, mellow, sweet,
King crow soars by my car,
No stranger to the coming heat,
Calls to a mate afar
My day is over, work is done
But I am not alone,
I troll black ribbons,
Crowded roads,
To home, and my true love.
Suburbs silhouette old plains,
Fresh born to ancient land,
New trees and landscapes cling to earth,
The sweat of labour’s hand.
Late spring scents float so near,
I hear my children's’ laugh,
I taste the fruits of twenty years,
Home to my true love.
Copyright Pierre Nunns
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