The Tale of the Digeridoo by Kailey Norusis

1

I am the tale of the didgeridoo; remember me when all hope seems lost.

From your broken and shattered pieces,
I shall create a warrior who was meant to fight.
My tale is not a pleasant one,
Though it ends happily enough.
If you listen to my music- with willing and eager ears-,
My story will seep into your soul, allowing you to fly.

 2

The waning sun of the seventeenth hour halos me in light,
Standing swollen with pride, an extension of my family.
My leaves are ruffled by the blowing breeze; my roots are planted deep.
I see people walking through the day and wonder ‘bout their lives.
An old sun burnt man promises of many a good tale.
He whistles on his merry way stalking off towards sea.
A young native girl dances barefoot round my trunk and tickles me with delicate soft
hands.
A strong and gracious mother working, bearing child on her back,
Her eyes are soft with pain, but the smile never leaves her face.
Every night flames spark and fly; it’s story-telling time.
The great chiefs of the village tell histories afar.
I wish to join the party, but I am planted on the rim.
I yearn to be like them and have my story told.
My time is almost up; soon I will be no more.


3

A great storm has come, which shook me to my core and many of my brothers died.
The first refreshing shower soon turned angry and harsh.
My friends all moved away seeking shelter from the rain.
Once again I am left alone to suffer on my own.
When all is lost and in despair, the great sun reveals itself to wash away my tears.
Summer is here at last with the promise of new life.
The heat is wearing on my health,
My bones are dry and brittle.
I feel the painful gnawing working through my limbs.
The evil bugs work through every layer until I am emptied out, with nothing left.
My once beautiful body has been destroyed; no one wants me now.
All my dreams are crushed,
For I am sure to die of shame, surrounded by infantile and brilliant foliage;
Forsaken to shelter bugs from the pouring sun.

4

A brown boy with painted skin and decorated with dangling jewelry enters in my line of

sight.
He walks around with his chest puffed out, the emblem of who I desire to be.
Carrying an axe in hand he begins to search through trees.
I compare myself to all my fellow neighbors.
He shall never choose me, I cry, for I am old and ugly.
My limbs are hallowed out,
My branches frail and weak.
Oh how I wish to be young and handsome!
The boy takes his time, not offering most a second glance.
He turns his eye towards me and a smile stretches ‘long his face: Why you are exactly
what I need!
He swiftly strolls over to where I stand.
I slump down in embarrassment, my leaves draping toward the ground. 

5

He brings me to his workshop where, he lays me down to rest.

With a brush in dispense he begins the lengthy task at hand.
After hours long of endless labor, he leans back to admire all his work.
Satisfied he leaves so he may go and devour his late supper.
He has made me beautiful again!
Why what kind of magician is he?- I wonder
Maybe someday I shall return the favor.

6

The boy presses his soft and tender lips upon my hallow body.

He breathes a breath of life through me and a cry of war comes out: I am a fighter.
My friends all dance and chant around me.
I feel the flames from the burning inferno in the center.
My youth and beauty have been restored by this kind and careful boy who will forever
Hold my heart.
I am passed down from generation to generation.
My wish was granted and I will be remembered for all eternity, singing for my friends.