Riding down the dusty trail on a humid and wind struck afternoon,I stopped to see a bush homestead looking aged weary and worn,You could feel many a tear had been shead,Their hands blistered,The skin on there fingers ground to the bone while building such an elaborate home,The roof once shone,oh ! so beautifully !throwing it's reflections into the country's skies,Now weather beaten and twisted,That brings tears to my eyes,This homestead used to stand on this great land straight and proud but now slants with it's slats riddled with termites where only some of it's pioneering days can be found,"ooh !,mother nature sighed.....""Why did the bushies leave this once beautiful home to die....."The floor board in this delapedated and saddened home is now a place for the rats and mice to skittle play and roam,On the ground there were alcohol bottles smashed,Camp fires left dorment telling us that there was once a celebration or two,To show us that people could laugh and have fun in the bush after toiling tirelessly from dusk till dawn until there jobs were done, Yes! the homestead of the valley is now completely neglected in the blazing sun,Sadly here's a touch of our history left to rot and die,Here's "THE HOME STEAD OF THE VALLEY",quietly saying "goodbye.....". Written By robyn bashford 2.12.2002 re edited 22.6.2011.