NATURE In RETREAT
| Ted Goggin was determined He had a dream to win With just an axe and little more He built a traveller's inn A small and unpretentious inn Built near the river's bend It catered for coach travellers It was called the "Traveller's Friend". And here the driver of the coach Would cool his horses down It was still deep in the country About thirty miles from town It was just a hoot and holler From old Sid Tetley's mine In the inn the weary travellers Could quench their thirst and dine But one hundred years have come and gone Father Time moves very fast The "Traveller's friend" and Tetley's mine Are memories of the past Fate sometimes wields an unkind wand Of that there is no doubt A fire burnt down the "Traveller's Friend" And Tetley's mine played out Of the road that once ran past here There is little to be seen Native shrubs have claimed the roadway Midst grasses tall and green I gained knowledge of this history From a tattered 'Traveller's' book And history's past still beckons If you know just where to look There's a crumbling old stone fireplace And some rusted sheets of tin They mark the final passing Of Ted Goggin's friendly inn And Sid Tetley's "Golden Nugget" mine Looks more like an old well If the two old timers lived today What stories they could tell In my mind I see coach travellers Through imagination's haze Dressed in garments of the period That were fashionable in those days I camp often by this river Without any thought of fear Though I seem to feel the presence Of the ghosts of yesteryear Nature had to yield a little To permit the old bush track But as the road became neglected Nature gradually took it back It is now a land of wonder Where birds and animals are free A land of serene beauty For any bushwalker to see Deepening shadows gather As the sun sinks 'neath the hills And nature paints a sunset That both captivates and thrills And high up in the treetops Possums have some news to tell As they chatter to each other In this bushland all is well The sky begins to darken To reveal the wondrous stars Then the moon will light the bushland With its magic silver bars At a campfire by the riverside I shed all earthly toils As I stare into the embers While my old tin billy boils And while I sit in contemplation Not a problem bothers me Except, tonight will I make coffee? Or perhaps a mug of tea? The bushland has no screeching wheels Nor sounds that I detest Only tranquil sounds of nature That put the heart at rest While I sing praise of the bushland Some find it tedious and bland But I find peace and quiet contentment In this nature wonderland Away off in the distance I hear the hooting of an owl Then a flutter from the river Of a restless waterfowl Then across the moonlit river Near where wattles softly sway I watch a group of rabbits Frisking happily at play I see a mother kangaroo Soon others will be here They quench their thirst each evening In the waters cool and clear In the trees the birds are singing They warble with delight It seems they sing their welcome To the deepening of the night A silver bodied trout Jumps and splashes in the stream Waters glisten in the moonlight This is a nature lover's dream Quite often I've seen platypus And old man wombat too This is home to many creatures This is nature's unfenced zoo And in this menagerie Where contentment never ends I have a deep love for these creatures I call each of them my friends But the silence will be broken By the might of human hand As they desecrate this bushland For a sealed road that is planned The road will split the bush asunder Where native animals abound For the surplus requirement Of another picnic ground Though many speak against it Few politicians hear them talk The road will give such easy access For those too tired to walk This spot is six miles from the highway For those who wish to come Six miles through unspoiled bushland But that's too far for some A host of gas-fired barbeques Will glitter neath the sun For those ignorant of the bushland They're just intent on having fun And some will have wild parties With noisy raves and rants And uncaring for the bushland They will trample native plants Cartons, tissues, cans and bottles Will soon proliferate the land And this pristine tract of nature Will quickly yield to human hand From a junction on the highway Where the traffic doesn't cease A black ribbon of destruction Will pierce this land of peace At night and in the mornings And the restful afternoons The wildlife will be slaughtered By speeding half-wit hoons This friendly wildlife haven Will become a land of dread And the roadside will be littered With the bodies of the dead We have reserves and parks aplenty For those just wanting fun But the sanctity of this bushland Should be preserved for everyone Those who choose to walk here Might number just a few But they are genuine nature lovers They seek consideration, too With the noise of rumbling traffic There is very little doubt The peaceful animal survivors Will soon move further out The wildlife and the native plants Will not admit defeat They will gather in a quieter place This is nature in retreat As the animals desert it And the silence disappears I will lose this place I cherish That I've visited for years Of course, I know of other bushland Where my spirit can find rest But this spot has been my favourite It's the bushland I love best I will visit 'til the road is built Then with a heavy sigh To this land that gave me comfort I will say my last goodbye K.D. Abbott © 2009 |
| NOTE: A 'billy' is a simple tin pot that is now commercially manufactured but was originally made from a jam tin. |
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