Many words have been spoken, some I cannot understand, about Albert Namatjira, his paintings and his land

The hardships and the trauma, to which he had to face, harshly deal with, 'protected' reminded of his place

His paintings tell a story of freedom Wild and True. Of mountains, old and rugged, and a sky of cold clear blue

A spirit ever willing to answer his dreaming's call, to guard over precious memories, the land, the sites and all

What pleasure? What gifts of beauty did Albert leave to art? He painted with his body, his soul and all his heart

What rewards were given Albert?  By those he sought to trust, accused of wrongful doings, into a gaol he was thrust

His pride it had been shattered, his honesty dealt a blow, he never really recovered, the strain began to show

First citizen of Australia, a land no white man knows. But Albert knew this country, the dreaming as he was shown,
he told his peoples story, through the artist, as he was known

A gentle, quiet achiever, he saw the beauty in the land, he had the gift of art to capture that, through canvas, brush and hand

But alas Albert died almost forgotten, and now lies buried in his land