On a stringybark in a flat paddock I can hear the pale eyed crow <br />Cawing in the early morning near where the Tarwin waters flow <br />On towards the great Pacific it slowly winds it's way <br />By the narrow road to Tarwin Lower that end up at Venus Bay. <br /> <br />This land as old as father time renowned in lore and song <br />Once home to the indigenous tribe known as the Bunurong <br />By the waters of the Tarwin they danced their Corroborees <br />When the magpie's voice was carrying in the freshening evening breeze. <br /> <br />In the age of human innocence that inspired old bards to rhyme <br />They danced and told their marvellous stories of their historic Dreamtime <br />How the magpie got his colours why the roo must hop and bound <br />Why the wombat must keep digging in his big hole in the ground. <br /> <br />Long before sailor Cook's arrival from that distant rainy shore <br />The Bunurong had lived in this country for sixty thousand years or more <br />And though nothing lasts forever and nothing stays the same <br />Occupancy for dispossession seems a much more pleasant name. <br /> <br />In a land as old as time itself with an Aboriginal history <br />The waters of the Tarwin goes whispering towards the sea <br />And the pale eyed crow is cawing and the shrike thrush pipes his song <br />In the great land of the Dreamtime of the ancient Bunurong.<br /><br />Francis Duggan<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/near-where-the-tarwin-waters-flow/
