Tuesday, October 28, 2014


The continent as crucible,
in raw and tattered form,
from scattered edge of ocean;
the outback vast is  born.

The mist of time does mirror,
this curved and skirted land,
where songline chimes eternal;
draws magic from life's hand.

In soil, straw and rock it breathes,
of red-dust timeless truth,
where scale of man is minimal;
and ancient gods still rule.


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