An hotel reared its lofty head Beside a lilac. No patrons now it could be said, Not since way back. The walls are dusty brown, Once were white. Inside curtains billow round, Once were bright. Pretty wallpaper covered in dirt Peeling everywhere. Drunken beds but no forms inert Resting there. Church with steeple rising high, Pews in neat rows. Long since pastor raised his cry Of religious prose. Bell no longer on its stand, It tolls nearby To call the boss and hired hands Coodardy Station nigh. House stumps standing neatly Along the street. Give mute testimony Of houses once neat. Pool is dry, hospital empty, Creeper bloom. Mine paraphernalia and shanty Like the tomb. Once a thriving community But gold gone. Now a dusty, dirty entity
A decade on.