Vale for Peter, Coal River Valley, Tasmania

 by FRED DUNCAN 

Gently, he was lowered on an autumn afternoon,
Sun shining through the eucalypts, scent freed from their leaves,
We laid flowers on Peter’s coffin, Croft played a Dylan tune,
The harmonica wrung memories – tears wiped away on sleeves;
Peter – friend and neighbour – in his cottage, words and music strewn,
He breathed our island’s story, and through his works he weaves
Settlers, soldiers, families; forests, farms and convict station ruin.
The Hanslows in the valley fields, were bringing in the sheaves.