In the hush before sunlight gilds the ironbark leaves,
A circle forms, feet bare upon ochre’s living tapestry.
Smoke rises – tangled with whispers of yarning and lore,
Each tendril a gentle invitation, begging you to remember.
Through the rustle of grass, the call of the magpie floats, a song
Older than boundaries, older than names inscribed on maps.
An Elder’s eyes shine with the river’s memory, the gum’s wisdom,
Their voice steady as basalt, proclaiming, “You walk on sacred ground.”
Here, ‘Country’ means all, earth, sky, water, breath,
A kinship web spanning millennia’s unbroken threads.
To stand here is promise: to tread lightly, to listen deeply,
To offer respect to every root, every stone, every heartbeat.
Once, traveler’s paused at this land’s gentle threshold,
Their voices soft: “May I enter?” Hope held out in open hands.
Custodians weighed the wind, sensed intention’s quiet pulse –
Only openness, humility could earn passage through these lands.
Centuries breathed in cycles of welcome – ritual and care,
Ceremonies melding newcomers with the pulse of country.
Stories passed like coolamon cradled gently in calloused palms –
Stories of rain, of fire, of responsibility born with each new dawn.
A Welcome to Country is not just spoken, but felt – a living act,
A bridge arched over wounds woven by history’s heavy steps.
It asks: Will you honour the law of belonging? Will you walk,
Not as a visitor, but as a part of this country’s dreaming?
Reconciliation stirs where soil meets the soul’s quiet reckoning;
It flourishes when truth is spoken, when cultures entwine in trust.
Under stars that have watched old ceremonies and new greetings both,
We gather, pilgrim, descendant, child, linked by shared promise.
Let each step you take on this red expanse remember:
You are received in generosity shaped by patience and pride,
A welcome that echoes, unbroken, across sandplain and billabong –
Country speaking through every Elder, through every dawn, “You belong.”
