In the Lakes

The molten gold of moonlight flows
where darkened treetops sway and bend,
and under them the shadows lend
strange beauty to the path that goes
through casuarinas to the lakes.
A line of footprints leads the way
to where the placid waters lay…
and what a peaceful scene it makes.

With breaking dawn the breeze has died,
the bush is silent, not a bird
will sing or fly. They perch beside
the silent lakes, perhaps they heard
the night disturbed, the voice that cried -
while in those lakes some dark thing stirred.