They fascinate and beckon me,
Old tracks and roads unsealed,
Presenting such a challenge to
Explore their haunts concealed.
Sometimes a track leads nowhere, stops
Abruptly ‘midst the trees
Which guard the secrets of this place,
Left floating in the breeze.
One track leads to a miner’s shack,
Abandoned to its fate:
A rusty dish which panned for gold,
A battered metal plate.
Sometimes a lonely fishing beach
Where sandflies bite and sting,
Where mangroves spread their eerie roots
Which harbour fingerling.
Maybe just rotting stumps portray
What was a family home;
Now mango and bush lemon trees
Thrive in the sandy loam.
The sprawling chinky-apple trees,
The broken windmill fins;
Glass bottle fragments’ darting glint,
Corroded, empty tins.
Just rubbish now, just useless trash,
Which speak of bygone days
When folk fought bravely in their quest,
Surviving Nature’s frays.
I ponder on their meagre lives,
This pioneering breed;
From diverse origins they came
And lived by Mateship’s Creed.
These dusty roads and lonely tracks
Intrigue, appeal, assuage:
Imagination’s open book
Where History turns the page.
© Vivienne Ledlie