(Written after losing what was my grandparents house in the Cudlee Creek bush fires that swept through the Adelaide Hills district.)


Lonely brick pillars in ash and in cinders,
A chimney stands naked and bare.
Melted and twisted the tin that existed,
Once sheltered what's no longer there.

A carpet of grey where we once used to play,
In the scrub that's now charcoal and dying.
Brown leaves are falling where once life was crawling,
The landscape in ashes is crying.

Now memories flood that are mixed in our blood,
All those seeds in our lives that were sewed.
By that house on the hill that we hoped would be still,
At the top of the Post Office Road.

Yes my Grandfather built it then a bush fire killed it,
Though it'd stood about 70 years.
It saw life it saw laughter but here ever after,
All thats left are our memories and tears.

Still I remember before those cruel embers,
How the view that we had simply glowed.
Our Christmas time bright seeing Lobethal's lights,
From that house atop Post Office Road.

Whenever we stayed there I remember we played there,
On that carpet of cord fibre red.
And how we couldn't wait for that chocolate milk shake,
Before Grandma would send us to bed.

But the old folk are long gone and now with their old home,
Reunited in heaven's abode.
And when I've done my time I will make that long climb,
Back to that house atop Post Office Road.