Along the Brisbane ranges run
Gaunt rock faces burnt by sun
Rugged outcrops promised much
Through heavy toil - a Midas touch!
Harsh climate here - dust swirls about
Think 1870s – no doubt
And the lust for gold in white quartz seams;
Few lucky souls fulfilled their dreams.
Mullock heaps before our eyes
A ruined ore shaft – Man’s demise
A tiny chapel, draper’s store …
Once thriving township - now no more.
Today the rustic car park’s bare
Since Sixty-Two – no hymns or prayer
Steiglitz – an abandoned, silent hill
Beneath it – gold is present still!
(c) Poet in the woods 2016