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BRALGAH
The hot west wind came sweeping over sun parched
plains,
Rippled grasses rolled, an endless sea,
Here among her people lived the lovely lubra,
Bralgah,
Bralgah, comely daughter of the tribe Wiradgeri.
A gifted, graceful dancer, every heart was
gladdened,
By her skilful twirling - her slender beauty drew
All eyes in admiration, but the old folk feared
the whirlwinds,
The dreaded jealousy of Wurrawilberoo.
Bralgah often wandered far from friendly camp
fires,
Joyously cavorting, bending to the breeze,
The whirlwinds watched and waited, their anger
growing greater,
Spiteful red dust devils spun about the wilga
trees.
One fateful day they seized her, Bralgah and her
mother,
Carried them both swiftly to their country far
away,
Planned to slay the old one and hold the maiden
captive,
Forced to dance before them for their pleasure
every day.
Wiradjuri were wailing, such misery beset them,
Bitter ash of sorrow on their bodies, in their
hair,
They called for kindly spirits to save the stolen
women,
Brave warriors went searching, armed with ready
spear.
The wily women managed to evade their hated
masters,
Desperately running, the camp within full view,
Frenzied, twisting, roaring; the whirlwinds swept
them upward,
Wiradjurie's best fighting men met Wurrawilberoo.
Grim battle raged across the country; the fury
maddened whirlwinds Were defeated by magicians,
each a powerful
Wirraneen,
Bralgah and her mother crouching deep in stunted
wattle,
Trembled with dark horror at the dreadful combat
scene.
A dust cloud rose in spirals as the wicked winds
retreated,
A last faint howling echoed until the heavens
cleared,
The old woman sat rocking empty arms, alone and
weeping,
Grieving for her daughter - she had disappeared!
Across the glowing plainsland a tall, grey bird
came parading,
Such a bird the elders had never seen or known,
Stepping stately circles in familiar well loved
patterns,
Wiradjuri all welcomed their beloved Bralgah home.
We can still see lovely Bralgah dance with her
companions,
Shining wings uplifted as she leaps toward the
sun,
The beauty of the brolgas, a corroboree of
Dreamtime,
A legend of her people forever handed on.
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