On a human-made environment
Her soul withered at thy sight,
The Australian landscape had no Wordsworthian trees,
Nor no tribe of blooming fauna or any sign of Keats` autumn leaves.
Just a blooming fountain strategically placed in the centre
The spring green grass contrasted the booming skyline in the foreground.
There was no Mont Blanc to elicit any dreams of youth,
But instead, there was thy feathered creature, floating upon the fountain.
Its dirt-coloured feathers, emerald neck and dark eye-catching eyes
And the noise of a QUACK, which so quickly drummed out the heat of humanity,
Was more than enough to strike a place in her heart like a gem-covered key.
It has been a long tradition of her family name and this creature to be associated as one,
Thus, she never felt more at home than beside this little knack.
She was weary of the eyes of men dressed as penguins and women like Spanish flamencos
And by the cliché Melbournian tram galloping over trodden tracks,
She was woken from her trance and waddled down the black gravel.
As she made her way down the stairs and onto the platform,
A man-made space, where she is informed to stay behind this old yellow line,
Her restless soul could not get over not capturing the beauty in the creature's eyes
For her hands clutched her phone as though her life depended on it.