Marching into Dibbins

August 23rd, 2013 | Poems for children, Victorian alps

Dibbins Hut is one of my favourite places.

Marching Into Dibbins

Our packs are big and heavy, but we’re feeling fit and strong.
We’re marching into Dibbins, and it shouldn’t take too long.
It’s a great yet simple method to escape the city’s throng,
And we’re marching into Dibbins in the great Australian bush.

The Dibbins brought their cattle to the mountains long ago.
They built a hut to shield them from the wind, the rain and snow.
It’s nestled in a valley deep where crystal waters flow,
And we’re marching into Dibbins in the great Australian bush.

The Dibbins now have all passed on. No Dibbins yet remain.
Their hut was old and shabby, but it’s been re-built again.
It stands beside the river on a small and grassy plain,
And we’re marching into Dibbins in the great Australian bush.

Once we’re there, we’ll pitch our tent, our little nylon dome.
We will not brush our teeth tonight. Our hair we will not comb.
Tomorrow when the sun comes up, we’ll pack, and head for home.
We’ll be marching OUT from Dibbins in the great Australian bush.

Living in the city there are times, alas, one finds
That the ugly traffic noise intrudes beyond the window’s blinds,
And, if not in the strictest sense, at least inside our minds,
(whisper)
We’ll be marching into Dibbins in the great Australian bush!

© Stephen Whiteside 13.12.04

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