That Cold Morning In May

That cold morning in May Budjiti Slowly I walk Between the dunes That protected this Tribe from the Cold winds of June Forever an Dreaming It held them tight Their smiles once Beaming on its sight These dunes were Comfort Shelter And safe A place On their ancestral Journey along The dry and dusty Paroo Then along came the Ghost men And there foreign ways Happened upon them On this cold morning In May There fire sticks Rang out amongst The screams and cries They slaughtered this Tribe that Dreaming had Provide One survived Slowly I walk Between these White weathered Old dreams of the Budjiti A mournful desert Crow call Heralds my presence In these dunes That didn't protect This tribe On that cold Morning in May Authors Note I am honoured that the Budjiti people trusted me to tell one of their stories. I know that I haven't done it justice I don't think anyone could.