Ages of moonlight have flooded down the valley,
Whitening and shadowing the gaunt, stark mallee
Ages of moonlight . . . And how can I speak
Of its hueless glare on the sands of the creek,
Its shimmer and glint on the ridge-top boulders,
Naked and strong as tribesmen’s shoulders?
How can I speak of aeons unnumbered,
When the tribesmen would wake although they slumbered?
How tell of nardoo and spears that lay
On that rock in the moon till the break of day?
Mine are but ventures, vague, unfree;
Dimmest glimpses of mystery . . .
I watch the hard-glittering leaves of the mallee
And the pallid rocks in the haggard valley,
And wonder and guess as to what the moon hides
By the murmurless wash of its age-old tides.
Rex Ingamells, Forgotten People, F. W. Preece & Sons, Adelaide, 1936, page 41