Like a brave green shoot

Oh my hope is like a new green shoot
that’s reaching for the sun.
Oh, my hop is like a dancing tune,
I’m bound to come undone.

It’s rare enough to hope, I know,
rare in days like these:
for all the seas run dry it seems,
all the wells and all the dams.

But oh, my hope’s a purple rose,
a yellow coat, a poem;
oh, my hope’s an ancient song,
and the people – can you hear? – they’re singing!

It’s rare enough to hope, I know,
rare in days like these:
for the space from red and blue these days,
it’s far, so far between.

And oh, my hope’s a mourning song,
the land’s lamenting sighs;
oh, my hope is standing strong:
get up, Australia, rise!

It’s rare enough to hope, I know,
rare in days like these:
for our nation, built on theft and lies,
we’ve some dirt out of which to rise.

Oh, my hope is a new face mask,
some gloves and sanitiser, please!
Yes, my hope is in solitude,
though to be fair, it always was …

But it’s a rare old hope, and strange, I know,
to hope in days like these;
yet, like that brave green shoot, I will
still stretch, and reach for the sun!