Eroded Hills
Judith Wright, 1950
These hills my father's father stripped
And beggars to the winter wind
They crouch like shoulders, naked and whipped
Humble, abandoned, out of mind
Of their scant creeks I drank once
And ate sour cherries from old trees
Found in their gullies fruiting by chance
Neither fruit nor water gave my mind ease
I dream of hills bandaged in snow
Their eyelids clenched to keep out fear
When the last leaf and bird go
Let my thoughts stand like trees here
Let my thoughts stand