In The Little Desert Near Dimboola

In the Little Desert near Dimboola where the dark Wimmera flow
I could picture the black hunter in the distant long ago
As with spear he crept through high scriub as he stalked elusive roo
For enough meat for his family for a day or maybe two.

In the Little Desert near Dimboola ghosts were staring from the trees
And i could swear i heard their voices in the freshening evening breeze
They were singing in an accent that i could not understand
When it once more occured to me that this always was their Land.

In Dimboola's Little Desert i could hear white cockatoo
And the rosellas were chirping and the sound of didgeridoo
Came to me from a distance faintly in the evening air
And the ghosts of long departed were alive and living there.

But i felt an inner calmness though i felt that ghosts were near
For i know such ghosts are friendly and i felt no cause for fear
And though the tribes have long departed their proud history will survive
And their ghosts in the Little Desert are still very much alive.

Where the dark Wimmera waters almost soundless wind their way
Through the quiet Little Desert i could hear in twilight gray
The musical rosella and the squawking cockatoo
And the ghost of Aboriginal as he played his didgeridoo.

by Francis Duggan

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