In the Valley there are few trees now
since white settlement the river gums have bled
steadily back into ever depleting soil
the dehydrating sap bleeding red

some majestic sentinels remain 
on final watch across the floodplain
of gritty dust and cropped introduced grasses
as the parade of indigenous extinction passes
withdrawing from the flats 
retreating across the hills 
ascending to heaven after suffering grave ills

and the broken remnains of centuries of trees
stand skeletal or lie shattered on the ground 
as if awaiting a last chance for redemption 
after each falling whoosh and final thump of sound
in atonement for overseeing the loss of forest
they crave to protect their young who escape the cut
of plough or chainsaw or grazing teeth they

enfold survivors in fractured parental branches
fostering the roots beneath 
attempting nurture of trunk and leaf
but they have nothing left to bequeath
to young individuals left standing exposed 
to sadly age in grief
witness to a parasitic human occupation
a relentless quest by the future’s thief