In cool quiet mist
we rise silently gathered
by dying embers
Leaving sleeping babes
mouths open, warm chests filled
with the breath of dreams
Wood bowls in hand,
allies, star-guided
through thick bush seeking dew for
the unweaned and the weary.
Red Waratah
Bloodwood tree
Returning to camp
mother, grandmother, child.
Kookaburra calls
Dawn nears.