Little Day.

My youthful days not known,
stolen when my twisted back was turned.

Weighted down with sinkers of shame;
and drowned in the river Barwon.

New blood the only way,
little Day.

Friends, bury me on a windswept dune
aside my sister, so fair.

You can place orchids on our ashen grave
but nothing will ever grow.

We are the spirits of children,
never born.