The song is gone; the danceis secret with the dancers in the earth, the ritual useless, and the tribal storylost in an alien tale. Only the grass stands upto mark the dancing-ring; the apple-gumsposture and mime a past corroboree, murmur a broken chant. The hunter is gone; the spearis splintered underground; the painted bodiesa dream the world breathed sleeping and forgot. The nomad feet are still. Only the rider's hearthalts at a sightless shadow, an unsaid wordthat fastens in the blood of the ancient curse, the fear as old as Cain.
Judith WrightAbout author
- Author's profession: Poet
- Nationality: australian
- Born: May 31, 1915
- Died: June 26, 2000
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