ALL GOOD
Eons of flight-path inching set aside,
Back to earth that bush and nettles hide,
Bounding up the hill, we who came so far
Unfold the plain to glimpse towards the farm
And seek the tree where nanna’s ash was laid.
Below stand Beeston Castle’s broken walls,
With tat and ice creams in the shop beneath
As jest and jostling dust away the galls
And rollicking up, there’s young mischief.
Fifty summers now the scene divide
As sunlight basks away the evening star -
With balls to throw and kick, and picnic plied -
We set to side the bales that maul and mar.
Hawthorn, oaks and sward tops standing wide -
Seasons come, the scythes of harvest bide.
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