Frank Wilmot

Here you will find the Poem Progress of poet Frank Wilmot


THEY?VE builded wooden timber tracks, 
 And a trolly with screaming brakes 
 Noses into the secret bush, 
Into the birdless brooding bush, 
 And the tall old gums it takes. 
And down in the sunny valley, 
 The snorting saw screams slow; 
O bush that nursed my people, 
O bush that cursed my people, 
That flayed and made my people, 
 I weep to watch you go