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You are my Mother, my Mother the Land Your bloodline aches today The secret you spoke of remains no more Our hearts, they cry of dismay Our brothers before and them before that Felt the brunt of the whiteman's curse And as their blood hit the sun from the whiteman's gun The spirits began to disperse So we turned to the land, our Mother the Land For comfort, our refuge at last But the feeling was gone, brown children now born Not black like you gave in the past Please take me back my Mother the Land The white man he'll never accept me The milk that you part will soothe my heart And your spirit of place will hold me The enchantment of night around camp firelight With your children black faces smile broadly As they talk of the day, in the Aboriginal way And the power of the land, so Godly They talk of your plains and inland rains That send your rivers raging And the animals that roam in their hot desert home But your landscape is rapidly changing You are my Mother, my Mother the Land You provide me for thousands of years But now your soul, like a rock waterhole Is drenched, not from water, but tears The sadness you feel as you weep on your own While your children remain scattered and torn The white system of life, it cuts like a knife And the Old People are weary and worn This gentle race which took it's place On your earth and your rivers and seas Now understands from the whiteman's hands That their skin is but a disease Broken pride in their hearts, they live torn apart And the colour is bred from their skin And ancient tribes whose culture was alive Are gone like a leaf in the wind Please take me back my Mother the Land Embrace me like Mother and Child The message goes out from your children who shout Only visitors and there for a while But the Mother has been raped by the white mans' greed Her spirit has turned into sand And the meaning of life to all mankind Remains with My Mother the Land
A poem by Phill Moncrieff. Thank you Phill for allowing me to publish this poem of yours!