This piece of hardwood, cunningly shaped,
was curved so evenly while piccaninnies gaped
at a Warrior who chipped at it with pieces of flint,
and formed it by meticulous dint upon dint.
Outside his wurly he sat beside a tree,
and chipped at it patiently for hours - not for me,
but to kill the Wallaby in the rocky pass,
to kill the fat wild Turkey hiding in the grass.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
He was sitting beside a tree not for her but to hunt the animals and birds. Is it the predicament of the deserted woman? Excellent way of presenting the theme!