The Old Homestead

Written By Dick Roberts

The old homestead stood in majesty, when i was just a child.Wrapped by a verandah, in place where we all grew up wild.The river gently flowed past, on its journey to the sea.The elm trees stood so proudly, beneath we’d all run free. The mountains were the back drop, to a life i remember well.The bellowing of weaners, and at shearing time how we’d smell.A cooked breakfast every morning, lamb was part of the entree.A sheep a week back then was considered part of the stockmans pay. The Tooma Pub on a Friday night was where you would find dad.Bag of chips, raspberry and coke, what a great time us kids had.Making brumb yards of a weekend, and checking our fishing lines.A way of life now long since gone, but i miss it all the time. As i drove down the old home valley, to visit one more time.I was saddened by all the farms, that now just grow pine.Progress is only welcome, when you forget how it once was.A thriving community full of life, now has changed just because. The veranda boards were missing, the garden was no more.The meat house wouldn’t hold a sparrow,The kitchen had no floor.It was a place that always held all my fondest memories.A time when the bush mattered, now left in ruins for all to see. I’m telling you this story, because i didn’t know how things would change.I took for granted a way of life, that now seems so damn strange.So take the time and look around, appreciate where you are.One day you will look back, and it will all seem like a distant star.