Thereís an ancient part of our country in the Outback way up north,
Way before the white man landed, the aboriginies were there in force,
A harsh and desolate wasteland, so the white man thought,
When they first explored it, and said it came to nought
Gibber country an alien like landscape, a land of unending stone,
A harsh and hard environment, not a place to be left alone,
Flat and uninviting, enmdless miles of rocks,
Like a furnace on a summers day,, in winter the temperature drops.
Long before the white man came, aboriginies roamed this land,
Telling tales of dreamtime, and their spirit clans,
Handing down their tribal laws, to the young ones in their turn,
Keeping old traditions fresh that was how they learned.
Colours of this landscape, mianly brown to dusty red,
The brightness of the sunlight, blue skies overhead,
Not much grows in this harsh land, excepting after raiin,
When in the greener springtime wild flowers bloom again.
The names for it are many, Iíll quote you just a few.
The tourist calls it the Out Back, to him itís bright and new
The natives say Gibber Country, they know it through and through,
Many call it a desert, although thatís not exactly true
Kangaroos and emus are found aplenty there,
Snakes and lizards share the space, while eagles soar . the air,
We shake our heads and wonder, how they exist in such a place,
Only natives had the secrets of how to use this space.
It has it's own forms of beauty, this harsh forbidding land ,
Of colours bright and different to any foreign strand,
God's beauty in the sunsets, Dawns of brilliant hues,
Uniqueness in the lands capes of browns and contrast blues.
The vastness of this country, is frightening to see,
Rocks in every vista, ni signs of any trees,
Still the more you travel throught it, it claims your soul and mind,
You always will remember it, when you;ve left it far behind.
JOHN W 24/10/03