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Bushwalking






Listen to the Poet Read
 What inspires a man to climb
The mountains in the autumn-time?
Is it just because they're there?
Or for some idiotic dare?
Or just to prove one's fit enough
To complete a climb that's tough?
Each one of these, at times, is right;
But others climb for sheer delight.

Not for the joy of aching knees,
Or scrambling over fallen trees.
Not for the joy of carrying packs
That cause so many aching backs.
Not for the beads of perspiration,
But for the pure inspiration
Of living pictures unsurpassed
When one gains the peak, at last.

A city dweller cannot see
The view that lies in front of me,
As wearily I sit me down
On Acropolis' crown.
How can one describe the thrills,
As row on row of distant hills
Unfold before my very eyes
Beneath the blue autumnal skies?
And my mountain throne commands
Views of jewelled alpine tarns,
While patches of the brilliant snow
Reflect the sunlight's mystic glow.

Anxieties and troubles cease,
For here the world is all at peace.
Massive cliffs of sombre grey
Stretch towards the timeless day.
And beyond suburban reach
I see the golden native beech.
The photograph and artist's paint
Give but a feeble semblance faint
Of the beauty, vast and grand,
Inherent in our glorious land.
I climb the peaks for inspiration
Of God's incredible creation.
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