The Past Becomes The Present

Of the beauty that I once knew occasionally I dream
And the past becomes the present in my subconscious 'twould seem
And the scratchy song of the dipper in the river I can hear
His voice that once seemed distant to me now seems quite near.

The blackface horned sheep are bleating on the bare high field by the hill
And the year's first wildflowers coming to bloom on the banks of the mountain rill
That babbles downhill towards the river by many a bare hedgerow
Through those old fields that have witnessed many a Season come and go.

Those old hills of my childhood years wear their white hats of late snow
And the cold winds of late February down from the high Country blow
Yet Spring just a few weeks away and birds will nest and sing
And the lark up to the rain clouds for to carol he will wing.

The woods and hedgerows bare in Winter will don their leafy green
And amongst the lush grass in the fields countless wildflowers to be seen
And dark winged swallows back home to breed from their Wintering grounds far away
Above the silent valley fly to and fro all day.

The lamp of day shines through my window pane and birds chirp and sing at daybreak
And to the laughter of the kookaburra from Dreamland I awake
Of the beauty that I once knew occasionally I dream
And the past becomes the present in my subconscious 'twould seem.