They sweep across the helpless sky,upon the howling wind they fly,to torture yet another dayand start the rain and ice to play,upon the shores of Frying Pan.
And see the waters rush in frightand roll along bedecked in white,to set about a frantic ride,‘till with the sodden earth collide,along the shores of Frying Pan.
Where twisted gums will brace their backsagainst the furious attacksand ragged rocks of years untold,stand and grimace against the cold,to guard the shores of Frying Pan.
Yet there follows a wondrous sight,an undulating world in white,where proudly stands the twisted gumwhen Winter’s handy work well done,covers the shores of Frying Pan.
And as the sunlight slowly fadesthe lake is painted in the shades,of silver, pink and yellow tooand all the perfect sunset hues,of our beloved Frying Pan.
Then when the night by day is kissed,in silence swirl the silver mists,so placid in November’s dawn,before there comes a different storm,to change the mood of Frying Pan.
When faded is the Summer skywell bleached by glaring passer by,who gives the earth a dusty sheen,yet still there shines a patch of green,to soothe the eye at Frying Pan.
And see the frightened waters rush,the trees atoss they seldom hush.For restless spirits shall not ceaseand e’er I’ll hear the lonesome peace,that rides the winds of Frying Pan.
Col Milligan
