Up his long red road she came
    With water and a torch
    The Micks had got the flick
    And he was waiting on the porch

    She worked a standard farm day
    And the kitchen was a mess
    So she cleaned and cleaned and shifted things
    And that’s when he confessed

    He liked that she could run for gates
    And jump from a moving ute
    But there wasn’t time to trim the dams
    To save the weak and cute

    Plus any attempt to clean his house
    Or shift a thing or three
    Would result in a one-way train ride
    Back on the Wendouree

    Now we all know that women
    Are prone to shedding tears
    But at that moment, all his mothballs
    Fused with her worst fear

    I’m going home! she bellowed
    I miss my inside dogs!
    When next you come to visit me,
    you can pick up all their bogs!

    Back in the inner West, they danced
    There’s nothing more charming than a country romance
    She loves him to bits
    And they both like the land
    The house is a mess
    But she’ll give him a hand

    Our content is a labour of love, crafted by dedicated volunteers who are passionate about the west. We encourage submissions from our community, particularly stories about your own experiences, family history, local issues, your suburb, community events, local history, human interest stories, food, the arts, and environmental matters. Below are articles created by community contributors. You can find their names in the bylines.

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