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

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

These trees had endured for centuries, ten thousand
Years or more, surviving summer drought and winter snow,
Fire and flood. Growing in a forgotten dream.

The saws start up again. When will the nightmare end?

They say that long ago
The Sahara was likewise green.

				     March 1977