Colin F. Jones

WAITING IN THE SHADE

The piccaninny morn grappled with the past,
and made shadows to rest in under the trees.
There sometimes were the shades of dead men,
But also, the dreamtime where our spirits are,
where we came from… the dreaming,
all there with us… in our minds, and souls.
We all come from the sunset country.
My shade goes to the waiting place now,
until I become the dead fella. No sun then,
just a dark dreamtime cave in the sky.
Just a dead tree hey? With no green leaves,
no sap, no branch, no living green leaves.
Living things don’t grow in the dreamtime cave,
just sleep.