The riverbank gleams, a red ochre scar,
Where the bank meanders, a ribbon afar.
The tide’s on the turn, a slow, creeping crawl,
Dragging secrets and stories, both big and small.
The catfish they lurk in the snags down below,
While the bream chase the shrimp where the water does flow.
A pelican dives with a comical plop,
As a lone cormorant fishes from up on the top.
From the reeds by the water, a dark teal takes flight,
Her wings a blur green in the morning sunlight.
On the sandbar a goanna sun himself sprawls,
Belly gleaming like gold ‘gainst the riverbank walls.
The magpies they warble, a chorus so sweet,
As the gum trees whisper in the warm, gentle heat.
A kookaburra laughs with a raucous delight,
As the riverbank bursts with colour and light.
The current it quickens, the tide’s on its way,
Pushing logs and debris in its watery spray.
A billygoat perches on a rock, brave and bold,
Surveys his domain, a story untold.
The river it whispers, a song ever old,
Of billabongs teeming and stories untold.
Of floods that they rage and the droughts that they bake,
The lifeblood of land, for goodness sake.
The StoryTeller 