We passed through hamlets known as towns. Williamstown, Murraytown,
Laura, Clare. Each and every one adorned with an arcade,
Some wrought iron, its own degree of sleepiness. At six
We landed in Melrose, sheltered by the lee of Mount
Remarkable. The bar served beer on tap. The locals,
Both of them, told us how a hundred and forty people
Cavorted there that weekend. ‘Aww…You should have been here.’
The day waned, the wine plains left behind. We had reached The Flinders.
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