Elegy for Colin Thiele

You didn't wrestle crocodiles, die tragically or young

or driving cars in circles round the track.

Brought up in Eudunda, your praises won't be sung

in Washington. You won't be coming back.

I grew up with your Bruno, saw the sun upon the stubble

Your poetry was subtle, wry and deft.

You realized fifty years ago the planet was in trouble

that if we don't wake up, there's nothing left.

You recognized our ancient land in all its muted beauty,

the pelican, the Coorong's fragile dunes.

Your writing and your teaching, your gift - perhaps your duty -

May future generations hear your tunes.

There'll be no lavish funeral provided by the State -

You're in our hearts, though, Colin. Goodbye old humble mate...