* TIMBER. .
I remember the sounds of days long gone now.
When men earned their wage by the sweat of their brow,
Sounds of their toil that were distinctive and clear
Sounds that were heard from both far and near.
The sound of the axe through the bush gullies rang.
As it bit into timber, from the cut the chips sprang,
the groan of the tres as at last they gave way,
To the power of the axe and were trimmed as they lay.
T he creaking of harness, the clinking of chains
As oxen teams dragged out the regal remains,
Of kings of the forests,giants in their might
How the mighty are fallen in the dawns early light
The long jinker creaking with its` great heavy load
Slowly moves through the forest up to the road,
A large span of bullocks straining hard up the track
The bullocky`s whip sounds like a rifle shot crack.
Down at the mill where the steam engines roar
The huge fly wheel`s spinning, hear the whine of the saw
The crescendo increases as it bites into wood
Shaping the billets from trees that once stood.
The smell pf the sawdust, see the blue smoke arise
From the burning of sawdust, where the waste timber lies,
Sunlight rays streaming through the haze in the mill
These are sights and sound that forever , will remain with me still.