Shoo Roo
Posted: Tue May 24, 2011 11:19 am
Wrote this originally as a free verse piece for another site but then also did if for here revamped.
The story is true sadly - we had a lot of pretty faced wallabies out round the park and whilst not as prone to getting hit as their big brothers they still did occasionally - one little bloke lost his life and his Mum was seen for days just sitting where he was killed alongside his remains...it was heartbreaking to see her and eventually she left.
Animals grieve just as much as humans do when they loose their young - I often wonder if they remember them.
SHOO ROO
Autumn rain has washed the blood from the stones at the roadside
though the place of impact is easy to pick
from the skid marks, scattered stones and leaves, red plastic on the road,
and undertakers from down near the River Styx.
A simple twist of fate upon the road saw your demise,
there’s little traffic there on quieter days
to disturb its quiet stillness, shaded ‘neath green leafy boughs
and no doubt you never thought to look both ways.
Sadly you, my Springtime joey, have departed here in May
as the weather cools and nightime dark comes creeping
in much earlier than it once did – fewer hours now to play
my pretty faced friend discovered that life is fleeting.
I see your pouched and grey hotel as I travel to work
standing there alone beside the old highway.
I notice how her eyes are searching endlessly for you
but she mourns silently – she hasn’t much to say.
And nature soon will make her leave, give up her grief and go
into the shelter of the forests cool and dark.
Where other roos and wallabies laze beneath shady trees
and graze the grasses in the nearby National Park.
Maureen Clifford © 05/11
SHOO ROO (the Original)
Autumn rain washed the blood from the stones by the road side
the point of impact clear for all to see.
Skid marks, scattered sticks and stones , red plastic and crows.
But a simple twist of fate saw your demise on a lonely road
with little traffic even in the middle of the day
to disturb its quietness and stillness, for few travel it.
And yet you who were born in Spring have departed in Autumn
as the weather cools and nights drop by earlier.
How I wish you were still here – my little pretty faced friend.
I see your strange hotel, pouched and grey as I travel to work.
She doesn’t have too much to say – she lost the reins
of love – and yet I notice her haunted eyes search endlessly.
Maureen Clifford © 05/11
The story is true sadly - we had a lot of pretty faced wallabies out round the park and whilst not as prone to getting hit as their big brothers they still did occasionally - one little bloke lost his life and his Mum was seen for days just sitting where he was killed alongside his remains...it was heartbreaking to see her and eventually she left.
Animals grieve just as much as humans do when they loose their young - I often wonder if they remember them.
SHOO ROO
Autumn rain has washed the blood from the stones at the roadside
though the place of impact is easy to pick
from the skid marks, scattered stones and leaves, red plastic on the road,
and undertakers from down near the River Styx.
A simple twist of fate upon the road saw your demise,
there’s little traffic there on quieter days
to disturb its quiet stillness, shaded ‘neath green leafy boughs
and no doubt you never thought to look both ways.
Sadly you, my Springtime joey, have departed here in May
as the weather cools and nightime dark comes creeping
in much earlier than it once did – fewer hours now to play
my pretty faced friend discovered that life is fleeting.
I see your pouched and grey hotel as I travel to work
standing there alone beside the old highway.
I notice how her eyes are searching endlessly for you
but she mourns silently – she hasn’t much to say.
And nature soon will make her leave, give up her grief and go
into the shelter of the forests cool and dark.
Where other roos and wallabies laze beneath shady trees
and graze the grasses in the nearby National Park.
Maureen Clifford © 05/11
SHOO ROO (the Original)
Autumn rain washed the blood from the stones by the road side
the point of impact clear for all to see.
Skid marks, scattered sticks and stones , red plastic and crows.
But a simple twist of fate saw your demise on a lonely road
with little traffic even in the middle of the day
to disturb its quietness and stillness, for few travel it.
And yet you who were born in Spring have departed in Autumn
as the weather cools and nights drop by earlier.
How I wish you were still here – my little pretty faced friend.
I see your strange hotel, pouched and grey as I travel to work.
She doesn’t have too much to say – she lost the reins
of love – and yet I notice her haunted eyes search endlessly.
Maureen Clifford © 05/11
