Bare Hills
Bare Hills no rain: curse and prayer
Poured into vacuum;
Those who came first, armed with torch and axe,
Had the despoiler’s means and power
But no authority; they cared not for posterity,
Nor do we.
The useless storms bite the long dust,
Carve swift runways, in years meeting;
And, as if dredged,
The rich sand slides to the sea.
This lubra[1] land has few lovers.
What do cities care, and the others?
The time-gap of near two centuries has added
Nothing to love, to wisdom; we live, exist
In a lunatic tower, laughing to see concrete and steel
Usurp the rain-trees;
No love, no rain
What shall war-victories gain us, or our posterity,
We makers of a continent of sand.
The Bulletin, 5 April 1944, p4.
[1] A now offensive word for an aboriginal woman.