07/04/2026
TARNAGULLA CALLING.
It’s the smell of smoky Ironbark
wondering from the chimney stacks.
It’s the taste of fresh tank water,
that keeps me coming back.
It’s the sleepy little back lanes,
with their sandy gravel tracks.
It’s wattle growing in the bush,
It’s the ringing of an axe.
Oh, it’s Tarnagulla calling me,
when she knows I cannot stay.
Tarnagulla I can hear you,
from a thousand miles away.
It’s the broken backs and blisters,
from men and women of our past.
It’s the sheer determination,
of our kin, our pioneers that we last.
It’s the townsfolk here that make her,
with their open friendly smiles.
It’s their history in the families,
It’s the town they won’t let die.
It’s the bushie in the characters,
that you chance upon to greet.
It’s the friendly wave you’ll never see,
in bustling city streets.
Oh, it’s Tarnagulla calling me,
yes, I hear her everyday
Tarnagulla, know I’m there with you,
from a thousand miles away.
But although my life is elsewhere,
and for now I cannot stay.
I hear my Tarnagulla calling,
and with her, you’ll find my grave.