Hammock Reminiscing Poem by Ivan Pine

I lie here in this hammock, which is, tied from tree to tree
Just like to lie here thinking things, things of you and me.

Let the gentle wind, loll past, do what it may please
It’s really rather pleasant here, a swinging in the breeze.

My thoughts do wander idly, down a passage of my life
That’s given many memories and, bought its share of strife.

The gentle rocking of the hammock, and the rustle of the leaves
Combines to form an image, like a’bringing in the sheaves.

More a steady pace of walking, done carefully up a track
With many days provisions, a fastened firmly to our back.

Of climbing up a rugged ridge, and the struggle down again
A suffering head down effort, bringing, an endless wave of pain.

A hissing spitting little stove, in yon lost and lonely valley
That brings a smile at our lips, and makes us want to dally.

Now civilisation far behind, for us, no longer thought
What cares and petty worries, they now amount to naught.

A mountain stream inviting, bitter cold, upon the skin
Sweat and clothes discarded, compelled to jump on in.

All aches and itchy patches, succumb, to the waters icy embrace
If we feeling out of sorts, the blues away will chase.

Lying, listening to the sounds of night, the bush, it never sleeps
A long way from where we work, and the bleating of the sheep.

A home was where we made it, or, where we found ourselves
Sometimes in huts of pioneer fame, with memories on the shelves.

Other times by a stream, covered, with a blanket made of star
The finest fabric ever wove was ours, the best by ever far.

Cold, dark and watery ways, a tunnel, springs to mind
Splashing ever onward in the darkness, what were we too find?

The bobbing lights was all, we had, to chase away the gloom
We never thought the sky was blue, deep in the mountain's womb.

And then with perseverance, persistence, suddenly we were out
Relief and laughter and smiles around, enough to give a shout.

A funny little hut, built no doubt, by government degrees
Is up a slope upon the ridge, takes us further among the trees.

Weary legs aching bad, gasping, and struggling under goad
No ones happier for indeed, we have found the mother load.

Yes my constant companions, we shall not weep
How can I ever thankyou, my weary aching feet.

Through it all, we as friends, the stress and burden shared
Just goes to show a friendship strong, very aptly paired.

Memory and me, and you make three
Let us rock here gently, tied from tree to tree.