I landed and announced
My dreams with your land
People and long history with the white.
Your stones are cold
Frozen and dry.
I tried with ink
Helpless!
Your caravan took me to Thirroul,
Blue turf.
The vast hillside of Katoomba
I had a hazy look into your garden
Met with enigmatic discourse
Through white eyes!
You are there
As the old three sisters
Like old myths
People call you “aborigines".
We call you the saviors of history.
