She loves those hills of rolling green,
And the barren parched-grey scrub:
That rust-red earth makes her dream,
Along a simple clichéd theme,
Of people dancing hand in hand
Across her ancient, sun-drenched land.
The golden beaches fringed with palms
Where people sway with open arms
To the rhythm of the sea
From today until eternity.
Her snowy peaks in cobalt skies
Will echo sounds of happy cries,
Of children dancing, always free,
Free from tribal tyranny.
Whirling, twirling, love as one,
Smiles beneath the yellow sun,
Or laughing in the rain,
And setting free the pain.