Thirty-three Kilometres from Benalla,
Along the Myrrhee road.
There is a little campsite,
It looks like it's freshly mowed.

It is camped in every Easter,
It has been for many years.
There have been many people in her,
Through lots of laughs and tears.

It's got a stony creek,
With a good water hole.
Sometimes strong, sometimes weak,
Some stones as black as coal.

We have a long thin campfire,
In the same place every time.
We cook food on the fire,
it doesn't take much time.

We go ferreting and fishing,
And even set some traps.
It is fun to go camping,
No drinking out of taps.

We have creek water to drink,
It's so lovely and clean.
It makes you really think,
To put fluoride in water is mean.

Written for Poppy on his 80th Birthday
By grandson Lloyd McLean (1989)
 

Disclaimer: This poem was written when I was twelve years old and was for my grandfather's birthday card on his 80th birthday about the camping trips we used to take. The last line of the poem is not meant to be political, and I would have been completely oblivious to the debates around fluoridation at the time. It was simply a comment that the fresh creek water tasted nicer than the water out of the tap at home!

This poem is from the Horses and Things collection