Cold

“There was a heavy fall of snow during the day, and later in the night the fall was heavier and impeded the traffic”—London newspaper item February 6, 1916.

I’m standing lonely up Whitehall way
With a measure of ice at my feet,
I’ve an English wheeze and an English sneeze,
I’m soaked with the driving sleet.

The best that Blighty can give to us
Is ours and w can’t forget,
But all the same (and who will blame)
My heart’s in Australia yet.

I’m standing watching the traffic pass,
I’m dreaming of southern heat,
The noise of the brakes as the car wheel takes
The crossings at Flinders Street.

Or Sydney side where the south winds swoon
To die in the harbour’s bays,
The lilting splash as the breakers dash
On Coogee on surfing days.

The soft-ringed blue of the circling hills,
The keepers of Adelaide,
My memory gleans from a thousand scenes,
Out there where my feet ave strayed.

Of wattle trees in a flame of bloom,
The ‘roos in the Mitchell grass,
The fields of grain and the salt bush plain,
The creeks that the drovers pass.

I break the spell, but I pause to smile;
I’m glad at my heart I’m here;
I’ve done my share for my own out there,
The land that we hold so dear.

So I stand and watch as the drifting snow
The city in white wraps fold,
I’ve a snuffling wheeze, a shattering sneeze,
And a shivering English cold.

8.3.16.