Lost Dreams Poem by Les Littleford

Across the wind scraped, sun baked paddocks of the Never Never
They stand
like rust encrusted Boabs
overflowing only with forgotten memories
and broken dreams. Winter winds entangle spinifex,
summer sun patterns the rust
and the flood cleans everything

as it always has. This was the new Eldorado
across the Inland Sea.Mirages both.
The oldest of lands in harmony with
nomadic survival
but settlement indifferent.

Too hot
Too dry
Too wet
Too far.

The land’s enduring strength revealed
by ruins of grand designs
enveloped by creeper and vine
eroded by flood
warped by heat.

And belittled by Indigenous beauty.
Sweeping chasms, giant forests, sculptured rock.

While the marvels of their age
Stand in the sun
And rust.