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The White Sticks of Conjola

Melissa Neve

4 February 2021

Ghosts of trees now
The long drive out, means looking at them... and is just the memory, of what once was
Spiny limbs reaching to the sky
While ever I see those sticks, the memories will remain
And long into the future, seeing those senior citizens of the bush, there'll be pain in my heart, remembering that great conflagration
'We're ravaged' they say, 'exhausted', 'really trying to do our best to grow and cover our ordeal, our nakedness, our vulnerability'
Just like young ones, full of energy, those young shoots and trees are trying to take the baton from their ancestors
We're here
We're alive
We're growing
We're coming and in years to come we'll have grown right past you grandmother, grandfather
And the circle of life goes on
Life cut short, before due time, but everything that they were, ripples through the next generations
Be soothed dear heart

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