The Mushroom Club Masthead
Poems

 

WHERE THE RUBBER GROWS
© 2012 Robert Cavill

There is a forest in the north, and its tree's weep white
-where the rubber grows.

In drifting mists of morning light, they stand right dressed
-as soldiers know.

Those men of the south sort shelter from the storm, lay still
-in the mud beneath them.

With shattered trunks and broken limbs, the weeping white trees
-did proclaim them.

In white dripping silence came a gentle weeping, away to the south
-where the Wattle grows.

Brothers carry pride in the past, for sort and seeker held fast
- when the tree's bled white-

"Where the rubber grows!"



Robert Cavill
Bob Cavill
8 Pl 1966-67



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