After Judith Wright’s Australia 1970 

 

Taker of summers, paddock by paddock, it lies in wait

where trees were pushed aside, the country eaten bare.

Imagine if we’d cared. If Earth could have its say.

 

What can a thistle do but spread and settle? Arms raised,

ungraspable, it stakes a claim anywhere

it lands. Taker of summers, of paddocks, it lies in wait.

 

I jab and dig, heap pile on wilting pile till late,

pull thorns out with my teeth, sweat crawling in my hair.

Imagine if we’d cared. If Earth could have its say.

 

Each spike concealed in reeds or ditch will liberate

thousands upon thousands of pale and flimsy heirs.  

Taker of summers, paddock by paddock, it lies in wait.

 

Some think they know. They tell me, it can’t penetrate

a pasture crop.  Leave it alone.  I do not dare.

Imagine if we’d cared. If Earth could have its say.

 

And so, weedstock myself, I labour with mattock and spade

undoing indifference, re-doing penance and repair.

Taker of summers, paddock by paddock, it lies in wait.

Imagine if we’d cared. If Earth could have its say.