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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=344142" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Plains</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=344142" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">A land, as far as the eye can see, where the waving grasses grow <br>Or the plains are blackened and burnt and bare, where the false mirages go <br>Like shifting symbols of hope deferred - land where you never know. <br> <br>Land of the plenty or land of want, where the grey Companions dance, <br>Feast or famine, or hope or fear, and in all things land of chance, <br>Where Nature pampers or Nature slays, in her ruthless, red, romance. <br> <br>And we catch a sound of a fairy's song, as the wind goes whipping by, <br>Or a scent like incense drifts along from the herbage ripe and dry <br>- Or the dust storms dance on their ballroom floor, where the bones of the cattle lie.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><a href="http://poems.citatepedia.com/">poem</a> by <strong><a rel="author" href="http://authors.citatepedia.com/by.php?a=Andrew+Barton+Paterson">Andrew Barton Paterson</a></strong></div>

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