The Poetry of Brian Langley
The inspiration for this poem
came whilst travelling in the Flinders Ranges in South Australia,
This is the region to where my ancestors migrated from England in the mid - late 1800s only to be caught up in the great "Centenary Drought" 1896 - 1904
Many of my ancestors are buried in unmarked graves in some very lonely places in the region
The Old Farm
No farmer now, the stock long gone
There's not much left to see.
Just a pile of stone and roofing iron
Where the farmhouse used to be.
An ancient, broken windmill
It makes no mournful sound
It's many years since last it turned
Above this arid ground.
And underneath an old gum tree
There's a rusty iron bed
And four small crosses mark the place
The farmer laid his dead
There, on that windswept red
Where dreams once filled the air
The ghosts of battlers long ago
Are with you - everywhere.
©B. Langley Oct 5th 2003
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