At Cooloolah Judith Wright The blue crane fishing in Cooloolah’s twilight has finished there longer than our centuries. He is the certain heir of lake and evening, And he will wear their colour till he dies ; but I’m a stranger, come of a conquering people. I cannot share his calm, who watch his lake, being unloved by all my eyes delight in and make uneasy, for an old, murder’s sake. Those dark-skinned people who ones named Cooloolah knew that no land is lost or own by wars, for earth is spirit; the invaders feet will tangle in nets there and his blood be thinned by fears. Riding at noon and ninety years ago, my grandfather was beckoned by a ghost a black acc...
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