Magpie, mudlark, currawong
Wake her with their garrulous warbling song
As sunlight through the branches illuminates the dawn,
They boldly sing their joyful praise to greet another morn.
She sees them, from the hillside to the valley floor in flight
And spies them in the eucalypts, tiny specks of black and white,
For they are black as darkest coal, black as the midnight sky
And they are whiter than a cloud, or snowflakes drifting by
Magpie, mudlark, currawong,
If life was ever true, ‘twas never long.
Black days she knew, as if the sun forgot to shine
For night loosed fallen angels, evil their design,
When vengeance smote the heart of man and man to hate inclined
And painted strokes of black upon his body, soul and mind.
White days she knew, soft as the wing of a dove,
White as a bridal veil o'er the white-hot heart of love,
Bright days, the river flowing full and slowly by,
Hazy, dappled picnic-days, never wont to die.
Dark and light days, each a part
Of the stirring chords that fill her loving heart.
Magpie, mudlark, currawong are ever there,
Coldest black and cleanest white in the cool, clear morning air,
Distinct to all and yet with all around they harmonise
Lifting their wings and soaring, singing to the skies.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
A very beautiful poem, enjoyed the read.