Burt Street Boulder
Oh the years have long strayed, where my younger days played
The dust on a long summer breeze
Our old house where we stayed, mother cried when she prayed
The dust storms that came as they pleased
The Old Trams of Burt Street, in an old world compete
With steam on the Golden Gate line
Dry, red dust at my feet, and padded up seat
The Malvern Star bike that was mine
The headframes of our past, stood each one to the last
Have gone where the tourist descend
For their history’s been cast, open pits and big blasts
And canyons are hard to defend
Now I search for the names, of lost children and games
The days we remember and yearn
My first love there remains, bound in passion and flames
The age where the innocent learn
But time comes on the beat, with our future to meet
And tomorrow hasn’t yet been
So I’ll rest in the street, with good coffee and eat
And pause with the years in-between
For old Boulder has charm, and has lived with her harm
So mingles the old with the new
And I’ll twist not your arm, when I rest in her palm
Old Boulder, fair dinkum and true.
written by Vic Churchill Dale
Moya Sharp
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