by James Aitchison
I came to unbreakable rock,
Rock that was young and cooling
Before any woman gave birth.
Rock that will never be quarried,
Where sand-dust grows a thousand trees,
Nurtured by bushfires and rain.
I came to unbreakable rock,
Rock that was young and cooling
Before any woman gave birth.
Rock that will never be quarried,
Where sand-dust grows a thousand trees,
Nurtured by bushfires and rain.
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