Gazing upon the vast outback, and the spinifex of gold.
Like her father did before her, and her ancestors of old.
This land has born great beauty from it’s red enriching earth.
Australia my country. The homeland of my birth.
She can’t help but love this rural town where each person knows your name
Where the whole place hits the footy field, to watch the last home game.
It’s where we all rallied together when Barry’s house burnt to the ground,
Instantly donations flooded in, from everywhere around.
It’s where you’ve got a roadside fruit stand and the cash tin is never empty
When the neighbours pop in to have a yarn, there’s always cake and tea aplenty.
It’s where the kids wander around the street and come home when street lights glow.
And no matter the mischief you get up to, your parents always know.
It’s where the CWA cake drive, is the highlight of the month
And you’re stuffed to the brim with so much food, that no one eats their lunch.
When on voting day the only draw card is a sanga on some bread
The way to draw in Country Folk, is a promise to be fed.
She’d once left the town and head to the city just for a weekend
Even that short period of time sent her scurrying home again.
City folk just don’t get it, the mateships just not there.
Some bloke had knocked her to the ground, and he really didn’t care.
A rural town is a family, and a special kind of home.
It’s a place where everyone’s a mate, and you’ll never feel alone.
1st prize-winning poem from the 2017 Friends poetry competition.
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