A beautiful Australian Native Orchid
For as long as I know, I have chosen to grow
In the realm of currawong and crow.
At home in the trees living life as I please
As I toss with the moss in the breeze.
At peace here so long, where the Lyrebird’s song
And the chant of the dark men belong.
My peace was to end and the gloom did descend
With the raids by the first white men.
The forest they slew as the long flitches flew,
From the logs in the saw mills that grew.
The tannin that seeped from the sawdust heaped
Stained the waters that crept to the creek.
The ancient bush rang as the axes all swang
Til the giants all fell with a BANG.
Cymbidiums died and my species has cried
When loggers loot all in their stride.
A hundred years passed and the slaughter so vast
Was stalled as the saw mills shut fast.
The junk from their quest in the forests bereft
Of a soul in the mess that was left.
But lo and behold . . . who could have fortold?
The gain from the pain was like Gold!
The rotting log dumps in the bush sprouted clumps
Of Suaves reclaiming the stumps.
Cymbidiums now grace the tarted up face
Of the bush once raped now embraced.
So soft and so green and so regal a scene:
Now Heralds the conquering Queen.
Gerry Walsh, 2015