Oh the Marram Grass so firm before
the violent waves that raise-crash ashore
and carve in the sand a delicate rose
of the coming of the wind – and how it goes
and scratches just like a seismograph
a record of just how the wind gusts laugh
and leap between blades shimmering
and play, reverberating, glimmering.
Oh what a charge to nurture flowers gay
and spread in the sun day after day
and night after night below the milky stars
send pale racimes out-reaching far
towards the sea that ashore angry foams
and the rising sun’s warming golden gloam.