12 February 2013
Four tiny children Playing in the dirt A mother sits so idly by A drum against her skirt
Their father's 'cross the desert sand A spear in his grip The oldest daughter shells some beans A baby on her hip
Flies buzz on so quietly A horse flicks tail in heat A cow trods over sparsest grass And glumly stamps its feet
A song above the clamour A lady sings and hums The others join the tribal song And sing straight from their lungs
It might not be the richest scene Content though they all are Sitting 'bout a burnt down fire Making new above the char.
Aborigine. • Opuss № I