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At the dawning of the day, On the road to Gunnedah, When the sky is pink and grey As the wings of a wild galah, And the last night-shadow ebbs From the trees like a falling tide, And the dew-hung spiderwebs On the grass-blades spread far and wide - Each sharp spike loaded well, Bent down low with the heavy dew - Wait the daily miracle When the world is all made anew: When the sun's rim lifts beyond The horizon turned crystal-white, And a sea of diamond Is the plain to the dazzled sight. At the dawning of the day, To my happiness thus it fell: That 1 went the common way, And 1 witnessed a miracle. Dorothea Mackellar |
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