Far from the suburb's growing sprawl
or hourly freight trains on the track,
far from the crowded shopping mall
and dear friends past, who won’t be back.

Far from the gangs that roam and fight
then vandalise and cause such fear,
far from the lines of bright street light
and piercing sirens in one’s ear.

Far from his unit and the din
he prods, the campfire embers hot,
relives that yearning deep within,
a life he thought he had forgot.

Where freedom is the stars above
or land as far as one can see,
the beauty of a fledgling dove,
and roam this country wild and free. 

To sleep beneath an ageless gum
next to an ancient billabong,
where lizards and wild dingoes come
and kookaburras sing their song.

Where sunsets glow a purple hue
and all the evening crickets sing,
then prints are left on morning dew
as in the valley bell birds ring.

The only thieves here in the night
are bandicoots or spotted quoll,
where breezes take dead leaves in flight
and mother nature grooms one’s soul.

He’s woken by the train on track,
the clatter and the noise again.
He wishes how he could go back,
and live the life that he lived then.