A poem by Dale Backo
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An old tribal warrior Stares across his picturesque country Far as his failing eyes can see Wondering what's going to happen To his beautiful place Knowing what will happen to him. Will my tribe forget the tradition? Our totem and our songs? Will my land be taken away from us? For development grazing rights? And venture for new mines Where will all my tribe go? Will they understand? Oh spirit of my ancestral dreaming Guide them to keep our tribal land And keep on with our tradition The lingo of my clan. I hang my head in sorrow now Time for me to go I hear the didgeridoo and clapstick Boomerang last corroboree. Sadly in my heart knows May my spirit watch over my clan For now I leave my tribal land.