poem based on the first bubbling pot event

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The day had come.

The door opened.

Hands were stamped.

The peole came.

Welcomes exchanged.

Hearts gladened.

From far and wide they ventured.

By spell, by broom.

By maddening car parking.

They came for the Bubbling

Pot.

Land found and promised.

With plans thought out  and

sculptured drawn.

The people prepared

The circle now dashed

Plans thrown aside.

A promise broken.

The land taken away.

Government rubbing hands....

The black snake grows.

Consuming more green.

More disappears our

Ancestors lost

The land shrinks

The music given

Its energies free

Sounds out and celebrates.

Plans refound.

Art refined the dream.

Taking flight once more.

Land now to buy.

Its borders to own.

Space to honour.

To preserve our life.

To breathe.

copyright held by Paul Shepard