The Copeland Trail


To Gloucester town
Bid thee farewell
If you're Barrington bound
You'd best not dwell

Best now to be on your way
Out along the Copeland Trail
It's been known to make men shy
To shed a tear, and seem quite frail

Past the bones of fortunes failed
Those who tried for Copeland's gold
There you'll feel the steely chill
As breath it churns, icy cold

When Bellbirds announce you've made the top
There's little doubt you'll swell with pride
But then turn ashen grey to know
You've still to make the other side

Then there'll come a chance to rest
Down upon the plains of old Cobark
Perhaps sit a while and quietly smile
In a place renowned for the larrikins lark

Then be off again for that final climb
Through the mist to answer Barringtons call
Up past the Moppy, and on to Polblue
Trek through the scrub, feeling ten feet tall

Be it rain or snow, or searing drought
Life abounds amid that bright red dust
To see nature's gifts go running free
Surely now you'll know the bushman's lust

Round the campfire at night
You can spin the bushman's tale
About how you love and live
Along the Copeland Trail


November 2001