The Buyer of the Bush

The trees trickled around the trick of the turf,
Teasing the tempers of the tanning turbs. 
The sea swung and swayed from side to side, 
Creating crystallised waves that could glide.

This was known as the tale of old,
With Waratah’s being treated like gold. 
That was all until it got sold. 

The new buyers beat and bumped, 
Forcing the bush to reveal its hidden treasures. 
The buyer revealed its true intentions, 
When it ripped the bushes hair off for his black-gold riches.

Seas of black-gold swam up and down,
Strangling Acacia trees all around.
Every possum, kangaroo and koala hounded and surrounded. 
By coal. By gas. By pollution.
The bush beat and bounded. 

This is the bush now, 
Disintegrated. Degraded. Devowed. 
Its sheer modesty has been torn and shredded,
This is the true wound we buyers have embedded.