The peeling trunks of gum observe the space
So wild this land that beauty painted fair
The spirit nature owns this precious place
Weekend invaders of blue mountains stare
The punctuated silence where birds call
The wind between the leaves may hum along
A soundscape that can easily enthrall
Our dreams through time can hear bush in song
The sandstone cliffs that catch the dying sun
Protectors of the valley lush below
In this land I am not the rightful one
The origins of culture I don’t know
My fathers did invade this land and steal
A hurt the powerful teatree cannot heal


Author: thepoetautist

A Gay poet of fifty odd years who is currently living in Cambodia.

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