A Bush Walkers Verse
Over the Snowy,
In it’s fullest guise,
The moon in splendour, did arise.
Cast it’s beam to the waters flow,
Mingling light, with the fires glow
A natural picture show.
And beauty stood, in the moons full light,
The world of anguish, was pushed beyond the night,
Over the river beyond our guardian trees,
Tangled in the river reeds;
Back behind our last defence
The river rocks
Creations greatest strength;
Ah, it all makes sense,
Why we lift the burden of our packs
And walk the dusty bushland tracks.
Up a spur, along a ridge,
Crest a mountain, and walk on high,
In Silhouette, against the sky
A moment, stolen
From the passing of time
Forever held in the bush walkers mind
Rain soaked in a lightening flash
The awesome sound as thunder cracks
Walk on through to a perfect day,
Here, where not a tree
Would dare to stray.
Yet life so fragile,
In the little wild flowers,
A walkers delight,
In the seeing hours.
Cling to life, in clusters,
We walk on down towards the night
A most enthralling
moment in time.
Cloistered, in a pristine
Little wild flowers Colour
The grasslands greenish
Mountains roll on, roll on
fading softly into
Alive in the birdsong
of a brand new dawn,
A wallaby hops,
Graceful, on the very same morn
The sun arises to light our way
And the trees stand tall, as if to pray-
“Be safe Bush walkers, throughout this day”.
A Bush walker, walks,
The track of exhaustive dreams,
Through all the wonders that nature schemes,
Following the trail of ones heart,
Alive in heavens woven art.
Down from a mountain,
To the valley below,
Happy to be, by the little creeks flow,
As the bush walkers sky,
Passes from day to night.
And all of the stars,
Twinkle so bright,
My mind reflects, on all that I have seen,
Where I have walked,
The places I have been.
A beautiful world, my body spent,
I lie my sleeping mat, content.
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(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
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(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
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(13 February 1879 - 2 March 1949)
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