My Love Is For A Man

They write of setting suns, of droughts and sweeping plains
Of dingoes and of bellbirds, coolabahs and driving rains
I've read their patriotic verse, it leaves me feeling hollow
Of Lawson, Kendall, Gilmore and all the ones who follow

Brown streams, blue skies, mountains washed in purple
Their poems about the western land, of Alice and of Birdsville
Shearers, drovers, swagmen, heroes of the Outback
Their words are steeped in images of Australia's dusty track

I bow to their superior ability to rhyme
And tell a story of their love of nature doing time
I've tried to shed a tear or two in wonder at this land
But alas I'm one who has not loved her, and does not understand

The thing that leaves me breathless and sets my heart on fire
Is not the thought of crimson soil or mountains ranging higher
My love is real and tangible and you would not understand
For inside this girl's fiery veins, my love is for a man!

How much more is there to write about this dusty place
When I can close my eyes and see each line upon his face
They can write about this country with their hearts upon their sleeve
But she won't love them back threefold, like Dorothea believes

When Earth has shifted axis and its plains are cold and bleak
And dust has turned to frozen rock and the rains have turned to sleet
My tenacious love for him will live within the folds of time
Perpetual and sweeter than any of their rhyme.

04/30/03