Here you will find thePoemThe Ruined Homesteadof poet Roland Robinson
White birds, frightened from silver grass, whose blood-rose breasts and wings are thrown like petals settling down the pass, flower the ruined homestead?s stone. Rise from the fallen walls and scream, crested, from the stark dead gum; shatter the crystal of the morning?s dream where I, across your landscape, come. Roofless, the broken stonework frames red arid hills, a valley where the ghost-gums writhe like whitened flames and desert-oaks droop their dark hair. And when, in the crucible of the hills the molten day has died, there stands under the blaze of stars that fills its night, a house not made with hands.
