They are not mountains-but they are blue
Three sisters stand before time began
Indigenous people knew them as sacred,too
They drew ochre of their dances on the walls and floors
not knowing of canyoneers or bushwalkers
Now this very earth is being explored
by those who see this as adventure
Wild parrots screech green wings above
Normal Lindsay lived here and made art
Yet the land itself is all open air galleries
where weekend warriors seek more space to be free
They rappel down cliffs both steep and deep
They yomp over rocks and stones and leap
into the wild waters of unseen creeks
and keep a silence /deep as wildness
Wordsworth knew his Lake District would not survive
the stomp of civilization's industrial pride
He walked and kept his paths private
so others might explore his wilderness
Blue Mountains hide the canyons of their past
If you go,make discretion your private art
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