An Old Goldfield

By James Aitchison

The bush is old and dark and full of slopes,

The trees grow ragged here, forlorn and still,

And bracken too conspires to blur the hill

And mask the shafts where men clung to their hopes.



And when evening's light begins to wane,

And secrets darken in this crooked ground,

I often think that I can hear the sound

As men set to the diggings once again.

James Aitchison is an Australian author and poet who writes in an old gold mining town. His work has appeared in many anthologies and journals in Australia, the UK, and US.