Tan riding pants, old big strong leather boots,
Wears the man who sits staring at ashes and coals,
A look of confusion, of loss and of grief,
Written on his face for generations to come.
Barren ground, in a drought saturated land,
Swag by his side, wondering how terrible things are,
Luck slipping away, flicked like a horse shoe,
Each strand of grass on fire, in an open blaze.
That is where I met him, nudged him slightly on the shoulder,
Reached forward to embrace him, so he was not alone.
Fell asleep with him in a dreamtime state,
Mates forever now dead, forgiveness belated.
The old tree looks on wisely, scattered grass all around,
With only the sound of wildlife, no disturbance, no sound.
The log his only comfort, lost and bewildered,
He gently stokes the fire, wondering how to get his next meal,
As he cries on my shoulder, the whole night through.
Off in the distance, past the highest trees,
Lies hope, love and charity,
And hopefully his future.
War, not a distant memory then, nor is it now,
We have the power to change this,
This image of silence
The foot soldiers swallowed,
Smoke billows above,
Hardship, a stolen glance that reminisces with our history.
The ashes fly up, to meet with grace,
Our untraceable heritage, born through isolation.
Like a war ship lost on the bottom of the ocean,
Grace meets with honour and Australia’s beauty unfolds,
Many wonders of life, a mystery unto itself.
We strive for perfection, an impossible task,
We bask in the Lords’ beauty as the silence, again it unfolds.
For she is our country and we will stand and serve her.
Protect her from violence, abhorrent crimes,
Clean up our streets, with sand on our skin,
As the lamps, they smash down one by one, like a pin.
We will stand under them, United
To protect her from the scorching sun,
And her beautiful shorelines,
Creeks often meek,
We’ve come so far, we will not go back.
Our enemy will not elude us in this century or the next,
Tested and tried, so many times before,
Our bravery beholds us to give us our strength