Singing the Land
A popular person when he was a lad
All those who met him were kinda glad
Until one day it all changed for the worst
He stopped seeing anyone seemingly his bubble burst
He took to the hills to the Outback
And wouldn’t mix with people as a matter of fact
He lived off the land in a shack his grandfather made
With a delivery of flour sugar and salt for the escapade
He was a mate we had grown up together
I’d go to see him once a month no matter the weather
I asked him one day why he had left us
And he’d shake is head saying don’t make a fuss
One day when I visited he was sick in bed
And he said don’t worry not a tear was shed
He spoke about his father who was an aborigine
Who passed on his dreaming stories that were meant to be
His father had passed on a ceremony
Of singing the land renewing it wild and free
Because he didn’t have a son
The land and all people would come undone
Finally he said he was the last of his line
That when he was gone it would end the earth’s time
And he died that night in his sleep
Saying his prophecy would be complete
So I put him in the ground as he wanted it to be
Smoking his body and singing what he had given me
Today I am driving back to the city
When a news flash told of a disease spreading without pity.
© Paul Warren Poetry
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