Here where the sandhills back away
Before the surging sea,
We pitch our camp upon the slope,
A spot that’s wild and free.
The sheoaks whistle in the wind
Or sigh on gentler breeze,
So all the while, in tune they vamp-
A duet with the seas.
No other campsite can be seen,
No crowded beach, or park,
The only neighbours to be heard,
Are creatures of the dark.
Though sparsley dressed the beachhills are-
The scene can quickly change,
From desert ‘blow’, to blue lagoon
And forest dense and strange.
Cool Eli Creek, here snakes its way
O’er pristine sandy bars,
Where brumbies come to graze and drink
At night, beneath the stars.
Where nature’s highway skirts the tide,
We drive and dodge the seas,
Then pause to fish along the way
Or dig for Eugaries.
Maheno’s rusted hulk we spy
Tucked in its sandy bed,
Past coloured sandhills, standing tall,
Then on to Indian Head.
The inland lakes and forest dense
Will sometimes call us too,
Then back to campsite wild and free
Above an ocean blue.
Now oft at night I lie awake
And then I long to be
Where flapping tent and whispering wind
Compose - A nocturne with the sea.
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