OUR MATE WALLY
Oh they call him Wally Brummell and some just say old Zip
He wrote and sang about Kakadu on the radio a bit
He’s seen the passing of the horses and the drovers all gone too
The rain don’t come cos the trees are gone from Brisbane to Barcoo
Old trees that had a life force, as strong as me or you
Killed by the ring barkers axe and bulldozed burnt so blue
But if the desert reclaims its own, if the hungry farmer knew?
Would he let a sapling live its life, from Brisbane to Barcoo?
Don Johnson
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem