Bible Study in the Bohemia Bush
The sun is baking me slightly and
The gentle, dry wind is stroking my limbs.
The wattle birds are having a Bible study
In the Bohemia Bush;
We also call them honey eaters
With their long thin beaks
And slender bodies.
They crane their necks
And plunge into the Word of God.
In the sky, the planes leave no trail,
Just a distant roar.
The few milky clouds
In the otherwise perfectly blue sky
Act as a thin veil of protection—
A shroud maybe but not a pall. There is no death here.
This is Australia. This is eternity.