Chugging along through rolling hills
Newly painted by the rain—
Thousands of sheep are standing still,
Their backs to the snaking train.
A panorama high and wide,
Ever changing movie screen—
Australia’s long parched countryside
Wears a dress of Irish green.
Deserted houses here and there—
Abandoned relics of past times,
Telegraph poles now stark and bare—
Once live conversation lines.
With voices glad were laden down
Communicating loud and clear,
Conveying far the life and sound
Of the ones that once lived here.
A booming place in gold rush times—
People flocked with spade in hand,
Came in their droves, wealth on their minds—
Rail and wire came to this land.
But when the veins of gold ran dry
‘Twas the death knell for this place;
It lost its lustre by and by—
Barren poles a lonesome trace.
Now telephones are silent here—
There’s no one left to speak a word—
But broken wires speak loud and clear,
Silent poles make their voices heard.
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