How long have you stood there,
by whose hand were you made?
Your slabs were rough hewn,
but carefully laid
into place, long ago,
still standing but weathered,
where a drover’s horse
was maybe once tethered.
Tell me, did bushrangers
ever ride by you?
Did farmers’ children
once sit astride you?
What stories you’d whisper
of history and such,
of old pioneers
whose memories we touch.
Photo courtesy of Gina Pestana
THE CARETAKERS
by Anne Bell
I went to the house,looking for a man to build a fence
knowing nothing of him,except that people said
he built good fences.
His garden warmed July’s cold hills,
but there was nobody there,
save a peacock,a scarecrow and a fine, grey mare.
I found nobody to build my fence,
but I think I’d like a man
who left his home to the care
of a peacock,a scarecrow and a fine, grey mare.
First published in The School Magazine.
Australian Children’s Poetry 