The Saltbush

Upon the bare and level ground, Where no green meadows smile, The saltbush old is growing round, And waiting all the while.

It may not bloom, it may not blow, But it’s worth its weight in gold, For many a secret waits to show Within its thorny hold.

So though the nightingale is dumb, And never makes a sound, The saltbush, like a herald, comes, Where beauty’s duty’s found.

• John Shaw Neilson