World’s End Creek – Burra

Nothing passes here – not even time,
or if I’ve used the years they seem
recycled now. This same
reflected landscape has remained
within this stream
reed-screened and clear
since early yesterday when I was nine
and January-free and came
to squander some of summer. Change
has been impeded here.
It’s strange to see unaltered vistas from
the early thirties lying there beside
reflections of a face that’s getting on.

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