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Waiting for the Mail

Edward S. Sorenson

She cantered from the eastern side,
    And I rode from the west;
The way between was lone and wide,
    But in wild splendor drest.

We sat upon an old gum log
    Amid sweet flowering trees:
Near by we heard the swamp-land frog;
    Above, the hum of bees.

Some lucky days we waited long,
    But time sped quickly there;
The bush was gay with avian song,
    And joy was everywhere.

Perhaps it was with more regret
    Than pleasure that we saw
The coach-team jog through dust or wet,
    And near our siding draw.

We got the news from up and down.
    From all the countryside;
We got our mail from bush and town,
    Then on our ways we’d ride.

The day we waited for the mail
    Was best of all the week;
We cared for neither wind nor rain,
    For drouth nor flooded creek.

We loved that bush and road where now
    But phantom coach-teams jog;
And better than all else, somehow,
    We loved that old gum log.

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