Yesterday in Cowra, beneath ancient skies,
I wandered by the Galari, where the river sighs,
Tracing footsteps of ancestors, timeless and grand,
Etched in the memory of this sacred land.
The whispering breeze carries echoes of old,
Stories of generations in its gentle hold,
Where the earth cradles secrets in its embrace,
And the waters reflect each ancestral face.
From the dawn of time, their spirits have known,
The dance of the land, its skin and its bone,
Songs of survival in valleys and crests,
Hearts beating in rhythm with nature’s breaths.
Every stone, a witness, every breeze, a prayer,
Embody the resilience of lives lived with care,
In harmony with the flora, with kin and beast,
A legacy of wisdom, of peace in the least.
The sun dips low, painting the horizon with gold,
Yet in my soul, the stories remain, bold,
Etched in the fabric of what will forever be,
A testament to eternity, to the strength of the free.
So along the banks of Galari, slow I tread,
In the paths of my forebears, where my spirit is fed,
Timeless and vast, their whispers I’ll keep,
In the heart of this country, where the ancestors sleep.
