The Grand South Road, a narrow band
Winds round hills
Of Gippsland, lush
With green spring growth.

The inner curve,
Our car will hug.
But still there is -
A danger!

Milk trucks,
Big tankers of steel,
Stray cows and motor bikes,
Also think they own the road.

Poowong East,
the sign announces,
But where's the town?
Its homes, its shops, its school?

Around a bend,
We sight a hall,
Modern, brick-clad.
A wall of plaques, curtained.

And inside, we see
Walls lined with photographs.
Tables groaning, boiling urns.
Country hospitality abounds.

Tables are grouped,
descendents talk,
The families of those
lost in war.

Cups of tea and
Chocolate cakes,
Sausage rolls and sandwiches.
School photos, army photos

The plaques uncurtained,
By the Rotary man.
Four lads from,
Poowong East School.

The last post sounded,
Heads bowed,
For those boys.
Like their school, no longer here