Stop by the roadside. The forest
Shouts out the sounds of the saws
Gnawing at wood, then the final crashing call
Of timber falling into unsettled silence.

Once it was all like this, the stillness
Broken only by currawong calls,
Kookaburra cacklings and magpie caws
The loudest noise to shock the forest trance.

Elder trees that endured for centuries, three hundred
Seasons or more, surviving summer drought and winter snow,
Fire and flood. Growing in a decimated dream.

The saws strike up once more. Nightmare strides the forest.

They say that centuries past
The Sahara was likewise green.

				             March, 1977