THROUGH THE BUSH
The train roars on through the blue-black night; The carriage lights are dimmed; The passengers sit with nodding heads, And sleepy eyes red-rimmed. But not for me is the land of sleep, I would rather stand outside. On the tiny platform of the train. As we roar o'er the countryside. There's a damp, wet smell of the scented bush. Comes rushing on the breeze; It's a wild aroma of mossy earth. And drenching, dew-soaked trees. / can see the dark hills flashing by, Their summits bathed in black, A lonely lake lies quiet and still, Beside the railroad track. And as the engine slackens speed. The weird bush sounds / hear; The tinkling of a bushland brook, « Comes faintly to my ear. Afar up on the mountain side / see a fleck of light; The glow from some small lotlely shack, A message from the night. -MAE MUSHELL, Tinwold .
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https://paperspast.natlib.govt.nz/newspapers/CHP19360606.2.12.26
Bibliographic details
Press, Volume LXXII, Issue 21802, 6 June 1936, Page 6 (Supplement)
Word Count
149THROUGH THE BUSH Press, Volume LXXII, Issue 21802, 6 June 1936, Page 6 (Supplement)
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