By the window the grey mist
Lies low on the horizon
Erasing the low hills
Obliterating all landmarks
The greyish gumtrees lining the street
Regain a sudden greenness
Against this bleak backdrop
Their leaves hanging
Waiting for a breath of fresh air
That does not come
The smell of burning eucalyptus is prevalent
The taste of ashes fills one's mouth
For the greyness is smoke
From the summer fires
Carried by the hot scorching winds
Roaring companions of the heat wave
Waiting is the name of the game
Waiting for the wind to change
Waiting for news
Waiting for the weather change
Waiting for the temperature to drop
Waiting for the rain
Waiting for happenings outside our control!
Lucette C. Bailliet ©
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