The pit ponies have been turned out for a spell--Coal strike news item.
Out of ill comes good indeed,
Since from darkness I am free,
And sharp can see the light of day
That in the pit was hid away.
How the greenness of the grass
Dazzles like a sunlit glass--
All the color seen down there
Was the lantern's yellow flare.
ls it summer ? Is it spring ?
What a song the wagtails sing !
Breezes blowing through my mane,
When will you return again ?
Is it joy or is it fear
Makes me set a pricking ear
At the splendid streaming light ?
Where has flown the black pit's night ?
Is it dread or haply thanks
Makes the quivering of my flanks ?
I had almost all forgot
How the beating sun grows hot ;
How the luscious grasses taste ;
How the breezes through them haste ;
Where the water trickles down
In the pools for sparrows brown ;
How the earth smells after rain;
How I toss my tail and mane.
Speeding o'er the paddock there.
Keel the rushing of the air.
What is this great ill of men ?
I am free to live again !
What of cities in affright ?
I can breathe the sun's delight !
--Nina Murdoch
Notes
From the Sydney Newspaper The Sun 19 Nov 1916 p. 4.
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