Along Whistle Duck Creek
Brolgas in high branches
Watched us breakfast on the bank
Cracking eggs for omelette
Against the trunk of a eucalypt
Mixed chorizo with capsicum
Deep gorge rising on the far side
Like crisp red mythical flesh
Water alive with fish as we supped
Their lips breaking the surface
To breathe as we skipped stealthy
Beneath the trees on rocks
Eyed by this waterhole's keepers
Their spirit eyes judging our steps
Stone by singing stone
An echo reaching back past time
Beyond remembering or dreaming
Where the ancestors fought and
Bred and shaped the land
Even the custodians of this place
Cannot agree upon its genesis
So we clean our pots and pans
Wipe the white man's guilt away
With soap suds and on-our-way
Sing an ode to Whistle Duck Creek
It cares not a jot for us
Our fallen cares our broken trust
Its waters seek ourselves complete
© shaun patrick green 2012
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