Passing by the looming presence
Of painterly, ghostly gum trees,
Like those of Heysen’s essence,
Are strangers no one sees
In meadows of alpine flowers.
These gaunt charcoal forests
Point upwards, like derelict towers,
Losing sunshine to elements
Of dirty weather and a darkened sky
Over a hidden, damaged world
Once of beauty, a wooded byway
Full of leaves now whirled
Up to a river, running fast
Like pleasant echoes of the past.