Penhallow

Above the undulating hills the welcome swallows fly
And the skylark o'er Penhallow is carolling in the sky
The nearest place to utopia that one might wish to see
The high country of South Gippsland seems beautiful to me.

This was high forested country till the white pioneers came
And though they cleared the forest they must feel free of blame
Since they thought they were doing the right thing at least in progress name
And few things last forever and few things stay the same.

Long before the white invasion or before poets learned to rhyme
The black tribes danced their corroborees in the historical Dreamtime
Long before the name of Penhallow in the un-recorded past
But few things are forever and few things ever last.

The old hills of Penhallow they look so green today
And a freshening wind blow uphill from the not too distant bay
And the airborne lark is carolling and the swallows fly high and low
And my love for this old Country with the passing of time grow.