The only thing that runs along the morang South Line;
is a train of thought or the occasional Roo.
One may ponder the whereabouts of the, iron hard
redgum sleepers and the ribbons of steel.
For only the benched tortured rock,
blasted and clawed from the ground with steel and steam.
Levelled by straining backs and dripping brows,
still flows like a stony river through the dry Gums.
Nervous rabbits wait at the derelict station their ears
rotating to the sounds up and down the line.
Dashing helter skelter to the underground
from the passing shadow of a gliding Falcon.
The whistling call of birds echo in the
blackberry clad cuttings. A long, narrow,
cool sanctuary for the busy Echidna.
Foraging for her food along the crowded walls.
Ancient River Red Gums have witnessed the rise
and demise of the steam locomotive.
Snaking it's way through their quiet standing.
Hauling out 300 year old logs clear-felled from the hills above.
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