When the world is too much with me,
Daily work a dreary load,
Then I have the perfect answer,
Then I take the Liffey Road.
Soon the mountain looms beside me,
Soon the river’s running clear,
Small farms dot the bright green pasture,
Placid stock are grazing near.
Birds are singing so much sweeter,
Trees have scents both sweet and rare,
Only birdsong breaks the silence,
In that heavenly mountain air.
Further on the foxgloves flourish,
Green light filters through tall trees,
Spongey moss and long-dead tree trunks,
Form a path one climbs with ease.
Woodchip lorries, keep your distance,
Crashing, smashing, far and wide,
Take your noise and fumes and plunder,
Not this lovely mountainside.
[‘The Liffey is our way of referring to the Liffey Valley. A local Tasmanian expression, just as ‘on Longford’ is part of the pre-electronic patois. Alison lived ‘on Longford’, (Springbanks) she’s now forever in the Liffey. As a young doctor, Bob Brown) used to call in at Springbanks on his bicycle, riding out to the valley. About a year ago, Lindsay (our editor) published a photo of himself and Bob, both on pushbikes, reporter and interviewee, which was taken in those days. Alison has been an inspiration to us and I’ll never cross that first bridge coming into the Liffey without seeing her there, arms resting on and gazing over the railing into the waters and the river stones below. I hope readers like this poetry from Alison - garry stannus]