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OLD FARM HOUSE
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NATURE Redundant farm house
you sit in the valley
your faithless occupants,
deserted and gone,
laugh in their grand house
built on the hilltop
while you in your valley
sit dying alone.
Gray are the whiskers
that beard your verandahs
vacant eyes squinting
through shutters of wood.
Those who once loved you,
empty of memory,
think not of the old days....
days that are good.
Teeth of the south wind
bite at your roof tiles,
no one to replace them,
no one to see.
Wind of the north-west,
singer of dirges,
croons round your chimney
a sad melody.
Loquacious magpies
in macrocarpa
arguing noisily
over your head.
Skin slowly peeling,
burnt by the hot sun,
faded to pink now
the sills that were red.
Around your old walls
tooth-of-the-lion,
myriads of gold suns,
shine in the grass.
One hardy rose bush
where once grew a garden
keeps lonely vigil
as the years pass.
Redundant farm house
left to your memories,
memories of good days,
days that are gone,
watch from your valley
loved house on the hilltop
while you, once so cherished,
sit dying alone.
