I remember walking through the streets of Temora
Going home one night after a party.
And Darren stopping and pointing out the stars,
Telling me about the constellations and planets
That are visible each night.
These planets, out of reach, make each night unique.
He told me:
There was an Indigenous people,
That each star was a hole
Torn in the night
By a spear thrown
And each shooting star
Was an spear falling.
His love of knowledge,
His kindness, his dreams.
His fiery ambitions toward politics,
And his ability to debate,
Made up a good life.
All stories come to an end,
And he is now out of reach.
But the happiness he brought to those who liked or loved him
Make his life unique.