Across the Nullabor Three hundred miles of gleaming line Across a treeless plain, A million hardwood sleepers Beneath the rails are lain. And veering not but one degree, Here nature seems at loss; No ridge to climb, no cutting made, No stream or bridge to cross. This segment’s of a railroad track That leaps from shore to shore, It links a nation, East to West Across the Nullabor.	2. The final link, a thousand miles, O’er arid country lay; A challenge tall through which to build A lasting permanent way. With camels, horse and human strength And navvies’ tools of trade, With no machine of modern age A mile a day they laid. No surcease from the blinding dust, And none from searing heat; With ways to thwart their slow advance Here nature seems replete.
3. Though too the fever winds would blow To strike so many down, The final spike at last was struck And thus their efforts crown. Monotony now for fettler’s wives Who scan a lonely plain, For breath of only outside joy - The weekly ‘tea and sugar train.	4. And greater joy there is for all, When Santa’s train arrives, Then - in a year he’ll come again And brighten lonely lives. From comfort of a sleeping car, Now spare a thought once more, For those who built, and those who tend This line across the Nullabor. Clarry Dunstan
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