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.