As celebration is in the air, the Pigeon House stands proud,
Feathers, shells and gumnuts that we’ve finally been allowed,
From the corners of the country, and all land in-between,
Materials of all varieties, yellow, black and green.
The wind whispers its special words,
Voices of ancestors, delicate as birds,
And dance and share,
In this moment forgetting the pasts scares.
But the stolen generation is a very real thing,
Holding fear and dread beneath its wing,
Mothers fearing for their children’s life,
The pain and worry stabbing like a knife.
But amidst this horror and all this loss,
There is a beauty that can never be crossed,
For as celebration is in the air, the Pigeon House stands proud,
The ochre cold against my skin,
A silent, unspoken vow.
So, gather round all, parent, elder or child,
For when we’re united, no one can take our smile.
– Grace, Kilkenny Primary School