A LITTLE SPRIG OF WATTLE
My mother’s letter came to-day,And now my thoughts are far away,For in between its pages layA little sprig of wattle.“The old home now looks at its best,”The message ran; “the country’s dressedIn spring’s gay cloak, and I have pressedA little sprig of wattle.”I almost see that glimpse of spring:The very air here seems to ringWith joyful notes of birds that singAmong the sprigs of wattle.The old home snug amidst the pines,The trickling creek that twists and twinesRound tall gum roots and undermines,Is all ablaze with wattle.A. H. Scott,4th Battery, A.F.A.
My mother’s letter came to-day,And now my thoughts are far away,For in between its pages layA little sprig of wattle.“The old home now looks at its best,”The message ran; “the country’s dressedIn spring’s gay cloak, and I have pressedA little sprig of wattle.”I almost see that glimpse of spring:The very air here seems to ringWith joyful notes of birds that singAmong the sprigs of wattle.The old home snug amidst the pines,The trickling creek that twists and twinesRound tall gum roots and undermines,Is all ablaze with wattle.A. H. Scott,4th Battery, A.F.A.
My mother’s letter came to-day,And now my thoughts are far away,For in between its pages layA little sprig of wattle.
My mother’s letter came to-day,
And now my thoughts are far away,
For in between its pages lay
A little sprig of wattle.
“The old home now looks at its best,”The message ran; “the country’s dressedIn spring’s gay cloak, and I have pressedA little sprig of wattle.”
“The old home now looks at its best,”
The message ran; “the country’s dressed
In spring’s gay cloak, and I have pressed
A little sprig of wattle.”
I almost see that glimpse of spring:The very air here seems to ringWith joyful notes of birds that singAmong the sprigs of wattle.
I almost see that glimpse of spring:
The very air here seems to ring
With joyful notes of birds that sing
Among the sprigs of wattle.
The old home snug amidst the pines,The trickling creek that twists and twinesRound tall gum roots and undermines,Is all ablaze with wattle.
The old home snug amidst the pines,
The trickling creek that twists and twines
Round tall gum roots and undermines,
Is all ablaze with wattle.
A. H. Scott,4th Battery, A.F.A.
A. H. Scott,
4th Battery, A.F.A.