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When poets write about this land
They write of flies and heat,
Of cockatoos and billabongs,
Of restless wandering feet.
Of how the trees are standing bare
Beside the dried up streams,
Of mulga trees (now what are they?),
Of ageing stockmens' dreams.
But this land has another side
That poets rarely praise,
The great Southwest, with greener trees
And kindly, cooler days.
The treetop walk, the karri trees,
The cows in pastures green.
The orchards and the emu farm,
Australia's gentle scene.
There's apples here, and oranges
And grapes upon the vines
All laden with their luscious fruit
For turning into wines.
The sheer delight of Walpole,
A bonzer country town
Whose beauty calls to city folks,
"You're welcome, come on down!"
Yes, you can keep your sunburnt land,
It's the old "Pork Chop" for me,
Where gentle lies the morning light,
And the rivers meet the sea.
© Sandy Parkinson April 2007. Word count: 153
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