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Gerringong Jacaranda’s

Tattoo Land

Mother Loved the Roses

Flowering Thoughts

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Nicotine Nightmare

Dancing Dolphins

Requiem for the master

Wings of Hope

Australia Day

Dear John

Dunheved Dwelling

Ghosts of Gloucester

Sad Faced Choir

Four Fires

ARBOR 2 Day (computer software)

Special Spectacles

Harden Hills

Melbourne Mick

Tenterfield Terrier

Green Gladiator

Antipodes Bound

Quarantine Quarry

Carrington Courting

Too short is life

Blowing up bungers

Bad ankle ALF

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Bad ankle ALF
 
Bad ankle, ALF!  Read the Xmas card last year.
Was this a play on words?
He was 82’    it did not matter.
As we all know, he is not the mad hatter.
 
Rather a man of true wit.
Some say he was full of it.
T’is June 97 and ALF is in heaven?
It’s afternoon as we gather for a farewell to this gentleman.
 
He was born in 1914, While Australia was at war.
His Aussie spirit he always wore.
Eventually it was fate that he was alone.
At nineteen to make it on his own.
Too early to Wynn his bride.
 
A man for all seasons. So he was to farm.
At sales he learnt how to yarn.
But a salesman’s lot is to fill in forms.
Wynn knew from the start a partners art.
I’ll do the forms, straight from the heart.
 
After a while the family grew.  
So with three sons in tow.
Off to Sydney they would go.
To settle in Guilford, no farm to tend.
ALF was off to James Hardie to lend a hand.
Not the same as tilling the land.
 
Tis, my time to remember, was it spring.
Young son Doug was no mug!
Up to his knees all covered in bees’.
 
Wynn’s job was to refine the honey,
While ALF was to stir,
 Wynn did not think he was funny.
 
When at dinner, ALF was a grinner.
Lounge clock would say grace.
It was no disgrace as ALF Played along,
With knife and fork.
To play the plates, was his way to relate.
Not just in kin, to ALF this was not a sin.
He wasn’t the type to give in!
 
At Eastwood the boys are now men.
Wynn’s garden is overflowing
,
Noah’s ark, with two of each botanical plants growing.
Wynn’s treasured plants, Have ALF in a dance.
A visit to Wynn down at the shops.
A horticultural nursery, top of the shos.
 
ALF the old salt, has by now grown hair as white as a colt.
Pack up Wynn im retiring from shipping, lets bolt.
 
To Binnaway and bush.
We’ll join our clan, in an agricultural plan.
Weather in drought & Wynn has since passed.
This travel to Gunnedah cannot last.
They moved to the “EMERALD”,   “HILL” not city.
On a farm called “Biwondah” not far from cotton city.
 
We say farewell to ALF, who lived life so well.
To each he offered a rhetorical thought,
A provoking “Wry” mind,
Surely he was one of a kind.  
Kind regards his nephew
 
 
COLIN  --  3/6/97





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Bad ankle ALF


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