My dearest love, at seventy-nine
You’re not, and never have been, mine.
My dearest love, at seventy-nine
You’re not, and never have been, mine.
Lord of earth and all creation
let your love possess our land;
With joyless spade I dig the tiny grave
Asking, who made me lord of life or death?
..apartness conquered by the power of love.
Carry us with you as you journey on.
His question ranged the echoing galaxies
of empty cold unanswering space, returning
home to our earth.
I praise a heroine of the Soviet Union,
pianist Yudina, through Moscow’s gloom
spelling a Mozart magical concerto.
Come down from that Crest! It’s Australia Day, Emu –
We just want to say, mate, how much we esteem you.
Raged, raged against the death of others’ light,
Toiled, fought, till sick and blind received their sight.