Never admit the pain, Bury it deep; Only the weak complain. Complaint is cheap. - Mary Gilmore

It’s gettin’ bits o’ posies, ’N’ feelin’ mighty good;
A-thrillin’ ’cause she loves you, An’ wond’rin’ why she should;
[...]
As if there’s nothin’ mattered, As if the world was good,
As if the Lord was lookin’, An’ sort o’ understood.

I am not very patient, Yet patient I must be
With him beside my pillow And the babe upon my knee.
[...]
Strange that I was given
Thoughts that soar to heaven,
Yet must I sit and keep
Children in their sleep!

I have no thunder in my words, Thunder is much too high;
But I can see as far as birds, And feel the wind go by.And I can follow through the grass The darling-breasted quail;
For, though things great in splendour mass, I choose the lesser grail.