The stone people:

This land is made of stones,

stones along its shores

washed by the ocean, stones

that listen to the waves,

that cry with the gulls

and understand the journey of sand.

Stones guarding the mountains,

stones playing in the fields,

large stones with white swirls,

small grey stones;

even the heart of the Land is a stone,

the greatest stone of all, it pulses

from sunrise to sunset,

a red stone that shares the land with all.

The stones of this land are alive,

Understand the serpent

that is river winding beside them,

stretch with the tree and grass,

run with roo and emu;

this Land’s stones breath and feel.

This land is so old the stones

have learnt to be, formed a lasting friendship

with the people of the land,

with the animals also.

The stones of this land have heard the songs

and learnt to sing,

a deep beautiful stone voice

that weaves peace into everything.

The people who came to this land

in wooden ships

and canvas sails,

who came with cotton and wool,

with steel and wheat,

did not pause to listen to the stones.

The new people who came across the sea,

proud in their accomplishments

ignored even the greatest stone of all,

treated it as a sideshow.

The people who came

could not hear

for in their chests they carried

their own small stones.

Those stones,

so recently arrived,

had not yet learned to hear

and were unable to feel.

The stones of this Land

sing still,

hope with the Land

that the people with stones in their chests

will one day hear

and learn to understand.