A Past That we Miss – Richie Cotton

South of Sydney near the National Park
With unlocked doors after dark

That was the fifties, this is now
No chickens, no farms, no mooing cow

As I child I played up trees near a creek
Not a shoe to be found, just small dirty feet

Wrestling with tadpoles, cicadas and frogs
Sticking my hand up hollow webbed logs

But the creeks dried up, the creatures moved on
God only knows where they found a pond?

This community town I’ve known for a while
Worked in it, played in it, grew with a smile

Butcher shop numbers decreased in size
Replaced by freezers and a fly-buy prize

Inflation rose for money to burn
Locals moved on to never return

High rise spread, where fibro stood
That rotary hoist, gone for good

An innocent time agreed to by most
Those cream and scone days, and the warm Sunday roast