Two Gods
‘Twas in the spring, two Gods gazed down upon the bright new land,
And one was Hope and one was Fear, and Hope it was who planned
This nation with its beauty and its wealth would surely be
The shining light to all the Earth - this was the God's decree.
But Fear it was who scratched his chin and begged to differ there,
Said he, that he would wager it would all end in despair,
And Hope took up the wager, for he was true to his name,
At stake the new land's fate, as Hope and Fear began the game.
And through that spring, the nation thrived, as sailing oceans wide
Came people from the worn out lands, where hope had all but died.
They cleared and built and farmed and tilled and made the country bloom.
They left, in far divided lands, dark thoughts of hate and doom.
Hope smiled at his companion but Fear's face showed no concern;
Still all went well, and soon to summer saw the season turn.
The cities grew, the country thrived, they battled drought and flood.
In foreign wars, sometimes in vain, spilled of their best their blood.
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poem by Dennis N. O'Brien
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The Daly River
By those northern river banks,
There in days gone by I wandered,
By clear streaming waters pondered,
Youthful hours were never squandered,
By those sandy verdant flanks.
Saw the rain in torrents falling,
Heard the native dogs there calling,
Saw from sea the rain clouds squalling,
By the Daly river banks.
Born upon a distant range,
All the streams that feed the Daly,
Flowing slow or tumbling gaily,
Come the rains it rises daily,
In a flash the seasons change.
Down the stony gullies creeping,
From the fissured hillside seeping,
Rolling clouds their tears are weeping,
Over all the monsoon's range.
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poem by Dennis N. O'Brien
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The Sword
There's a sword affixed in a glass case,
There on a western wall.
There's a photo there of a soldier
Who answered his country's call.
There's of the sword, a story to tell;
And of men - how the dice may fall.
In the east ‘neath the rising sun,
With his family gazing on,
In a uniform smartly fitting,
Stood an officer of Nippon.
At his side swung his sword - katana,
And to war he would soon be gone.
From his people were gifts bestowed:
A small book of prayers to take,
And a camera to record
The conquests their son would make;
So his family's photo he took;
In the book he would keep the keepsake.
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poem by Dennis N. O'Brien
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