The Aborigine Boy
The aborigine boy, his poor young heart was yearning
For the young raven haired girl, a passion was quickly burning
He was to carve his first boomerang to prove he was a man
If it returned back to him, he would carry out his plan.
He took the mulga branch and checked it was just so
The angle was correct, he couldn’t wait for his first throw
He split the branch and picked the piece that he knew would work
He had learnt from his ancestors, his walkabouts he never did shirk.
The branch he split, he took a stone and carved his mulga with care
He wanted it to fly and return, then win his maiden with raven hair
He inscribed it with his love and painted it with ochre of red
He took it to the outback and threw his first throw with a dread.
The boomerang did spin, it twisted and then dropped
The young aborigine felt his love and life, had suddenly stopped
He tried again he flicked his wrist it spun up heavenward
It spun it’s last spin and once again it was then floored.
His love was slipping away, a man he was not to be
His raven haired love, his bursting heart would never see
He tried and tried and then with a long last flick of his wrist
He had learnt the way he saw; he pounded the air with his fist.
His boomerang started to turn; it started on its first return
He danced as he watched it, and he felt his loins begin to burn
He jumped up and down waiting; he saw a glint of red
He knew he had done it, when it smacked him in the head
He had learnt to make his weapon
But his plan did not quite hatch
In learning to make the boomerang,
He forgot to learn how it to catch…
© 21/01/2013~GG~
Contest entry:
Inspiration came from Seren Roberts Poem 'Always To Return'
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