| Poetry Page 2 |
| The Old Farmer. Red dust pervades everything, Gets into every nook and crack, As the old beast rumbles Up the same old bush track. The wild gums sway In a wind that tugs and pulls, As the red dirt eddies Like living dusty whirpools. The heat shimmers From the stones that tear and rend, The travellers black tyres, All too often to mend. A farm house goes by And barely raises a brow, On the old, weather beaten face Of the man of the land, of sheep and cow. The red dust swirls As the driver smirks a wry smile, At a time without farm houses all over, When there was no kilometre, just a mile. The old truck shakes And rattles it's way, Up that same old track Every day. That same old face With that same wry smile, Earned from working hard soil, From struggling a long while. Grim though he looks His old truck is home to mirth, As the old farmer ponders The changes wrought on the red earth. |
| Gulgong 1 I saw this little town, Stopped here for a while, Entranced by the district's beauty, The local's welcoming smile. I fell in love here, That is no mystery, This quaint peaceful place, A part of my family history. I knew at once, It couldn't be wrong, To love and live, In beautiful Gulgong. |
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