Drought Poem by Mary Finnin

The great breath shudders,
Coolamuns are drained,
Billabongs go walkabout,
moons since it rained.

Stone man gathers
for corroboree,
chants harsh word-shapes
to narrow melody.

Parrot-feather images
of blood and sweat,
weave their anti-ritual
which the whites forget.

Bull-roarer calls them,
Warriors thirsty-lipped
dancing fire-enchanted
through the eucalypt.

Serve a timeless priesthood
final mystery,
making magic rainstorms
by corroboree.