The narrow bitumen road snaked its way through the valley
Aiming itself towards the merging range
An irony of colours lay by the roadside
A hard reflection of a dry winters pain
The creek crossings are crystal clear
A little slower than the past
But the beauty still lay in wait
For passerbys whose eyes do cast
Ancient pines lay in wait
Like sentries guarding the way
A reminder of the past
And the part they did play
Up ahead is the start
Of a very steep climb
Winding around the mountain
As you glance down the valley divine
It's a slow old slug
As the curves are very tight
Drop it down a gear or two
As you steal a glance to the right
You will feel the temp drop
And maybe even kiss some cloud
As you make your way up the range
Where the views will stand out proud .............