The first thing I notice...
It's not the blue sky and the whispy clouds
It's not the sound of the railway
It's not people chatting and childrens voices; sports callers
It's not suburbia creeping up the hills
It's not the mansion at the top
It's not the light towers, power poles and gum trees
It's not the dry dusty ground
It's not the long morning dappled shadows, dancing like a lover's caress languidly on the long grass
It's not the wind blowing dirt into my eyes, the pages of my book, the smell of children's sport
It's not the cold air, the smell of burning cigarettes
It's not my country, love in bright landscapes
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Liked your title (and your poem) . You can read the first line and the last of the last line and the poem would still be complete. Super job, great style. Keith