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I miss you, I wander the homestead,
Searching for something in boxes, trunks.
I come upon this snap, under our bed.
I remember your face if light rose or sank,
Your struggle with camera, lens and tripod,
The quest for landscapes which might prove iconic,
Three Sisters majestic in the Blue Mountains,
The Darling Ravine fed by the three creeks.

The girls had played and played in the paddock,
Come evening had become fractious,
I dunked them in a warm soapy tin tub.
They cried, begged to dress in their Sunday best
Ran outside to you when the gate creaked.
So this is what you crafted, to appease.

Some might say “Now that is iconic”,
The foretold storms in the clouds,
The gentle caress of cloth on stone,
The entwined arms like strong cement,
A band of sisters against the world.
No! It’s not that kind of anthem.
It’s the stillness of the three heads,
Reminding me of something you felt.

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