Linilimbu

No palms or poincianna tree Or paw-paws on the hill, And no dark faces welcome me — The sarif knives are still.

Now jungle sprawls were used to stand The little home we made — And I live in a southern land, And gone is a decade.

Another Buka greets my friends Or barks at passers-by; Poincettias fly their scarlet masts Against a winter sky, The scent of violets ascends And daffodils adorn But, O, those manifold contrasts Belong to Capricorn.

Limlimbu is a word I like, Linked with the brown man's day Of walkabout or week-end hike Spent in his chosen way — If we could learn from his crude lore A measure of repose And some sweet secret joy explore What rays we might expose! —Freda Mac Donnell.

Sydney.