Australia is fair, like a true daughter of England

A wanderer stands at the statue of Robert Burns
A digger’s tent is lonely in the night
But a woman is other to the men that laid
Our countries roots in song and verse
She was melancholy, as the lonely curlew cried
Men are sailors battling the weather and dying
Women’s hearts break with all the work and toil
Men struggle and suffer on the other side of the world
Leaving behind sweethearts with eyes full of tears
England was her, the land that gave them birth
Other because men were not of the soil, the fertile land
Australia was her daughter, young and wild and free
Men died to keep her safe, to keep her innocence
From the ravages of men in the old country
Strangers look up her surnbunt shores with lust
Envying the riches hidden deep within her valleys
Jealously the men protect her from strangers
But not from their own violence, their rape, their murder
Australia is fair like a true daughter of England.


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