Quilts hung in the shade of a dusty day,
Shift in the breeze, in a relaxed sort of way.
Waters dry quickly, alone in the sun,
Out the back door, bold days have begun.
Shall I tell of white cockatoos,
Flying above dew-dropped sleeping roos?
Watching the morning fly on the air,
I can only wonder, I can only stop and stare.
Does a pelican flying inland ever stop to wonder why,
With no expanse of sea, trees seem to block the sky?
Does he find peace in the freshwater afternoon breeze,
Or does he sigh and wish for strong winds blowing the salt from the seas?