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