By Thea Astley
The crowded trams go past,
The faces bright and painted -all the same;
No joy to last!
Last! you fools!
A bit of dazzle came before the claim
Of cold eternity.
But I would be a fool
If being such meant but an hour of joy,
Of laughter and the dazzle of the night-
An hour become for me
Cold winds toss the sky
Into a jumbled maze of star and cloud,
The trams go by-
A rustling in the trees – and I alone
With loneliness upon me like a shroud.
O aching scar!
I sit and long for life-
And pen a sick love poem to a star!
Barjai no 14, May 1944, p3
 1925-2004. Educated at All Hallows School and the University of Queensland. Taught in regional Queensland, novelist from 1958, 4 times Miles Franklin award winner.