Along the ‘Loop Line’ track, sit’s Couridjah not far.
A tiny town, if that; long farmed by those at heart.
The roadside’s yellow shine, makes easy walks so lazy.
With flooded colour wild, from mass of dainty daisy.
And the ‘Rehling Orchid’, had a tall Pine forest.
All the floor was littered, mushrooms’, red, white spotted.
Faeries there did dwell I saw, blinking ‘twix the trees.
‘Neath the fallen, evergreen floor, playing tricks with ease.
Magical of Nut trees, from which I pluck my wand.
Shaping just for my please, all the trees, we had a bond.
Magnolia graced the front, Lemon, Lime, in my backyard.
Bush Eucalypt; firewood hunts, clothesline among blossom art.
More varieties of bugs, then you’d care, see, or scratch.
Rain wash out all the plugs, silicon holes, just re-thatched!
How I miss my Couridjah, inland, ancient, welcome home.
Place of magic female art, home to wondrous Faerie folk.
