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Going back in time,
to Warrane, Sydney Cove,
standing with the Eora
watching ships unload.
Seeing the white man
again stake claim,
to something not his,
by changing it’s name.
Within a few days
it was obvious to see,
Terra Nullius was false,
the land wasn’t free.
Still Phillip had plans,
a type of assimilation,
an exchange of learning,
to be the foundation.
So he made Tubowgule
the point of Bennelong.
No longer was heard
the ceremonial song
of the water's edge,
Smallpox took hold,
spreading through tribes
like the common cold.
Slowly the fences
spread over the land,
bush tucker locked away
from native hands.
While friendly settlers
offered warm bread,
laced it with poison
to add to the dead.
The warriors engaged
in an unwritten war,
Pemulwuy, Tedbury,
countless others swore,
to fight for the life
of their tribal land,
being exploited in a way
they couldn’t understand.
The clearing of trees,
the fouling of streams,
the desertion of wildlife,
unfortunately weren’t dreams.
Buildings covered burial sites,
middens crushed for lime,
the boar rings lost forever,
all in such a short time.
Standing at Warrane,
imagining pre-settlement days,
the respect and understanding
for Mother Nature and her ways.
The connection to the land,
the knowing of our place,
as just another species,
now known as the human race.
Kathleen Morgan 2004
* Aboriginal words used are recorded as being from the language of the Eora People
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