SHE STANDS IN GLORIOUS SPLENDOUR
Posted: Mon May 13, 2013 9:32 am
SHE STANDS IN GLORIOUS SPLENDOUR
They march in proud formation ‘cross the hillsides eastern flank,
stand at attention as the sun goes down.
They stand in ranks at Passchendaele, Poziers and Amiens
where e’er one looks you see them holding ground.
As morning mist curls soft above the wet dew laden grass
and sunlight fingers probe the misty haze,
a tinge of colour blushes ‘cross the rows of dull khaki.
It is dawn. The vineyards beauty’s on display.
The faintest scent of lavender and roses fills the air.
A perfume sweet - a natural pot-pourri
along with wattle blossom and the eucalyptus. There
is nothing that’s more beautiful to me.
The rich volcanic soil crumbles to red dust in my fingers,
the air is cool and dry, so crisp and clean.
I hear the susurration soft as ewes call to their lambs
and note the flash of sunlight on grapes sheen.
The distant hills are dark and blue they circle round the town
with granite cliffs and boulders on display.
The detritus from long ago when volcanoes were here.
Long gone now – in the earth dormant they lay.
No better place to be than here. It’s rich in history
with fertile soils and big sky panoramas.
The Granite Belt is beautiful. It’s rugged and diverse.
Much loved by all, tourist, town folk and farmers.
And from humble beginnings was this area once spawned
of hardened molten magma. Granite boulders
that look like giant marbles tossed aside after a game
now dainty wildflower drape around their shoulders.
The seasons here are well defined from summer heat to snow.
Brass Monkey season begs for roaring fires
on frosty mornings, crisp clear days and nights that chill your bones.
Curl up in front of warming ironbark pyres.
So if you come to visit and we surely hope you do
and as you take in all the sights you’ll see;
just take a moment to recall the ones who’ve walked before you
The Kambuwal. The Aborigine.
The miners who came for the tin, the men who came from war
escaping bloodied battlefields of France.
They named the regions that you see. Father John Davadi
perceived grape growing could be their new chance.
The many men who came from other nations of the world
in search of gold, tin, silver, arsenic, copper.
Miners who turned to farming when the mineral prices dropped
who took up hoe and rake – became small croppers.
It’s all here. It’s the history that we proudly display
as serried ranks march proudly every dawn
across the fields of Passchendaele, Pozier and Amiens
Stanthorpe in glorious splendour stands as each new day is born.
Maureen Clifford © 05/13
They march in proud formation ‘cross the hillsides eastern flank,
stand at attention as the sun goes down.
They stand in ranks at Passchendaele, Poziers and Amiens
where e’er one looks you see them holding ground.
As morning mist curls soft above the wet dew laden grass
and sunlight fingers probe the misty haze,
a tinge of colour blushes ‘cross the rows of dull khaki.
It is dawn. The vineyards beauty’s on display.
The faintest scent of lavender and roses fills the air.
A perfume sweet - a natural pot-pourri
along with wattle blossom and the eucalyptus. There
is nothing that’s more beautiful to me.
The rich volcanic soil crumbles to red dust in my fingers,
the air is cool and dry, so crisp and clean.
I hear the susurration soft as ewes call to their lambs
and note the flash of sunlight on grapes sheen.
The distant hills are dark and blue they circle round the town
with granite cliffs and boulders on display.
The detritus from long ago when volcanoes were here.
Long gone now – in the earth dormant they lay.
No better place to be than here. It’s rich in history
with fertile soils and big sky panoramas.
The Granite Belt is beautiful. It’s rugged and diverse.
Much loved by all, tourist, town folk and farmers.
And from humble beginnings was this area once spawned
of hardened molten magma. Granite boulders
that look like giant marbles tossed aside after a game
now dainty wildflower drape around their shoulders.
The seasons here are well defined from summer heat to snow.
Brass Monkey season begs for roaring fires
on frosty mornings, crisp clear days and nights that chill your bones.
Curl up in front of warming ironbark pyres.
So if you come to visit and we surely hope you do
and as you take in all the sights you’ll see;
just take a moment to recall the ones who’ve walked before you
The Kambuwal. The Aborigine.
The miners who came for the tin, the men who came from war
escaping bloodied battlefields of France.
They named the regions that you see. Father John Davadi
perceived grape growing could be their new chance.
The many men who came from other nations of the world
in search of gold, tin, silver, arsenic, copper.
Miners who turned to farming when the mineral prices dropped
who took up hoe and rake – became small croppers.
It’s all here. It’s the history that we proudly display
as serried ranks march proudly every dawn
across the fields of Passchendaele, Pozier and Amiens
Stanthorpe in glorious splendour stands as each new day is born.
Maureen Clifford © 05/13
Maybe it's the strangeness of a volcanic landscape, gets to me.