In Travels in this Spinning World - by Paul A. L. Hall (1986, Lancaster, New Zealand)

In travels in this spinning world,
 in blues and then in greens,
I never stopped to see the ones
 all scattered in between.

But there were voices all along
 that hushed in passing years,
Of arguments of rights and wrongs,
 of settlements and fears.

The fathers of the nomads,
 who taught their children hope,
Were, I think, the kindest
 as birth began its grope.

They did not pause to see the shine
 of caravans of spangles,
They were the pilgrims of the stars,
 not stuck in crossroad mangles.

For there, where highways intersect,
 the prisoners do stay.
But those who can escape regret
 are those who got away.

You cannot trust in fancy man
 who never can decide,
If he will remain today
 or if away he'll ride.

In travels in this spinning world,
 in blues and then in greens,
I never stopped to see the ones
 all scattered in between.

For there is but the tragic,
 despite their promise fair,
of mankind
   locked
     in crusted walls,
And of the unaware ...

Self Portrait (Writing an anthology of poetry)

Tennant Creek (Out Back), Australia, 1986.

Performance of the poem put to music by me on guitar, harmonica and vocal :