The heat's down from 34 C to below 30 C
and my daughter declares:
It's autumn.
A day of dark clouds and cool air
spoils us and my son declares:
It's autumn.
Are you sure?
I ask and they mock me.
Their friends told them it's autumn
and we unemployed migrant adults
should listen to the children
for their friends have lived here
all the ten or thirteen years of their lives
and who are we unemployable migrant adults to question
the wisdom of the local children?
And, by the way, winter's round the corner.
OK, children of Australia,
we say,
it's autumn if you say so.
(from The Migrant - notes of a newcomer (February 1997- July 1998))
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Good Experience, we are divided the climate in our own voice, we internally believe that only, we cant change it, doesn`t matter let them call their voice, Thank you Author, Happy 2009.