A little wind goes hunting through the garden close to-day
He has caught the last forgotten rose and flung it far away --
But the golden poppy-ladies, they are gay.
They toss their herds and hold him but a light and careless rover
Who has cross the ferny ridges and the fields of faded clover
And has hastened back to tell them Autumn's over.
When the clouded sky's the color of a grey goose-feather
Like scraps of scattered sunshine in all the sullen weather,
the sprightly poppy-ladies dance together,
Each silken skirt a-flutter like a captured butterfly.
From the elbow of an apple-gum a magpie warbles high --
And the old earth still has beauty in July.
First published in The Australian Women's Mirror, 2 July 1929
