Skip to main content
Skip to footer
Red Room Poetry logo Red Room Poetry
  • Home
  • Poetry
    • Poets
    • Poems
  • Projects
    • Poetry Month
    • Contains Strong Language
    • Baraya Barray - Whale Song
    • Poem Forest
    • All Projects
  • Events
  • News
  • Learn
  • Support Us
    • Supporters and Partners
    • Donate
    • Shop
    • Newsletters
  • About
    • Team
    • First Nations Wisdom Circle
    • Key Documents
    • Work with Us
    • Access
    • FAQs
  • Home
  • Poetry
    • Poets
    • Poems
  • Projects
    • Poetry Month
    • Contains Strong Language
    • Baraya Barray - Whale Song
    • Poem Forest
    • All Projects
  • Events
  • News
  • Learn
  • Support Us
    • Supporters and Partners
    • Donate
    • Shop
    • Newsletters
  • About
    • Team
    • First Nations Wisdom Circle
    • Key Documents
    • Work with Us
    • Access
    • FAQs
Search Website Donate
You are in:
  1. Home
  2. Student poems
  3. Trees

Trees

By Ibrahim H

  • Share via Email
  • Share on Twitter (X)
  • Share on Threads
  • Share on Facebook

Published 18 September 2023

Trees

Leafy, brown

growing, swaying, shaking

Trees have green leaves

Shrubs

Project

POEM FOREST

Poem Forest

2023 Submissions

Author

  • Ibrahim H

    Kyeemagh Public School
    Year 1
Go back to start of main content
Go to top of page

Red Room Poetry acknowledges the Elders and Traditional Custodians of the lands, waters, sky and languages where we work, live and write. We are grateful to collaborate with First Nations people and aim to respectfully follow protocols as we move across Country.

Copyright © 2025 Red Room Poetry
Red Room Poetry
ABN: 35 103 464 446

Red Room Poetry
The Arts Exchange
Level 3, 10 Hickson Rd, The Rocks
Sydney NSW 2000 Australia

Phone: 1800 POETRY
redroompoetry.org
Contact us
  • Follow us on Instagram
  • Follow us on Twitter (X)
  • Follow us on Facebook
  • Follow us on YouTube
  • Follow our podcast

Ngurambang yali – Country speaks
~ Jeanine Leane

It’s been too long since I sat on granite in my
Country and thought

Too many years since I breathed this air—
Bunyi-ng—ganha
Felt this dirt—Ngamanhi Dhaagun
Smelt this dust—Budha—nhi Bunan

Listened for the sounds of her words that say
‘Balandha—dhuraay Bumal-ayi-nya Wumbay
abuny (yaboing)’—History does not have the
first claim. Nor the last word.
Nghindhi yarra dhalanbul ngiyanhi gin gu 
‘You can speak us now!’

Back to top
You have reached the end of the page. Thank you for reading.