Blue Fairy Wren

The rush, the push and fuss

Brindabellas ancient and old

Long stories they tell and have told

Crush, crush the leaves of late summer fuss

Dry mould, blue fairy Wren, oh gush!

Comfort speaks of me and my red cloak

Under those hills she sometimes yerns

When she’s angry, they burn

I can find her then, just like the Wren.

Will she be ready to join me? Travelling this mortal place?

Not till the oceans boil, and the dark wolf throws his muzzle and gapes

It’s taken all I’ve lost and all I’ve earned to find peace in those words

In the meantime, perhaps I will spend some time

As a blue fairy wren

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