The song is gone; the danceis secret with the dancers in the earth,the ritual useless, and the tribal storylost in an alien tale.
Only the grass stands upto mark the dancing-ring; the apple-gumsposture and mime a past corroboree,murmur a broken chant.
The hunter is gone; the spearis splintered underground; the painted bodiesa dream the world breathed sleeping and forgot.
The nomad feet are still.
Only the rider's hearthalts at a sightless shadow, an unsaid wordthat fastens in the blood of the ancient curse,the fear as old as Cain.
