Thursday, January 1, 2004

The Lonely Woman Comments

Rating: 2.9

WHERE the ironbarks are hanging leaves disconsolate and pale,
Where the wild vines o’er the ranges their spilt cream of blossom trail,
By the door of the bark humpey, by the rotting blood-wood gates,
On the river-bound selection, there a lonely woman waits,
...
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Mabel Forrest
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Mabel Forrest

Mabel Forrest

Australia
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