Over running water promises we made,
Cross the trickling streamlet in the fern-flagged glade
Some might change, but -- we -- why we loved otherwise.
So 'twas fate we challenged with the glamour in our eyes,
Hand in hand, fast clasped, beneath the gold lights and the green,
Now the seas divide us the years have stepped between.
Still the mottled thrushes stag the long days through
Where the drooping fern trees are thick with rimey dew.
Still, like slender, silver girls, the white gums stand,
And the loveliness of old things lies across the land.
Only human hearts have changed, as human faith must fail,
And the tale of running water is an old wives' tale.
First published in The Brisbane Courier, 20 April 1929
