Sofala to Sydney then Home
Sydney Australia always calls out to me,
The people, the lifestyle, the harbour-view, the sea.
Could that be the reason I question, like so many others,
Why the tollways will cost you– yet fresh air remains free.
About two centuries ago when the first settlers sailed here,
They had left the charm of Europe to wear shorts instead of mink.
There's not much that has changed over the years it seems clear,
Though modern women gaze way past the kitchen sink.
I look ahead and get some bearings, I take a few more steps,
Emotionless city folk passing are quite forceful on their way.
They won't find an Aussie suntan while they're crossing city streets,
Nor a spot to lay their beach mat down, at the nearest loading bay.
In the dark a possum screeches as I tread beside its home,
The torch flicked off and I backed away not intendin' to scare.
I shook a bit, it was midnight soon, just me an' him alone,
The screeching seems to be getting worse― 'Crikey, it's a pair!'
Roos are postnatal developers, seen all over Glen Innes,
James Cook and his botanist watched them hide in morning dew.
Spotted along the banks of the Endeavour river's entrance,
The name they gave them "kangooroo or kanguru" and eventually kangaroo.
They say these rocks were shifted here by a bearded Celtic bloke,
If you sit atop a Glen Innes rock you'd hear some ancient legend.
I'm told the biggest boulders brought was dragged by horse an' yoke,
Left them here as matching sets before sailing to Northumberland.
I wondered if this shed was struck by falling meteorites,
Or trashed by something dropped from up high in the clouds,
It's not far from the highway so could it be wind from passing cars?
I looked about which made me wonder― or wind from parting cows?
A fluffy toy was rescued when I found him in Muswellbrook,
He wore a price tag, squashed on a shelf with a budgie.
Now my puppy is free he doesn't have the same sad look,
This dog with spots is my mascot and bears the proud name Mudgee.
There's loads of activity you may not notice at Spooky Beach,
A favourite surfing spot of mine, always on my list of craves.
Banksia plants host life's little helpers with separate tasks for each,
Buzzing bees and tireless ants-- wind whispers across the waves.
Yamba's a perfect resting spot, before a return to city life begins,
Where the postie crams your post box with unsolicited mail,
Back to the grind, the cars, the sirens, the stinky rubber tyre spins,
News readers on the wide screen, offering sad news in shocking detail.