A poem by by Ron Pike

From the dream time to the hype time, from the mountains to the sea,
I’ve carried all the run-off, when heavens tears flow free.
My veins eroded mountains, arteries built the fertile plains.
I know the pain of drought, the cure of flooding rains.
I’ve watched the black man hunt and fish and burn my banks with fire.
The pain of floods that changed my course, then dying in droughts ire.
Drought left my body bloodless, topsoil skin in dust storms scattered.
This is the state in which I lived; life ephemeral, hope shattered.


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Source – Quadrant Online