I Think of Sydney

When I think of my sweethearts, I think of Sydney
In Rhyming Slang she’s Steak’n Kidney.
And all those times past
Two hundred years,
None said it would last.
The Black Man, The White Man
The Immigrant stood fast.

I look at the photos. I look at Sydney.
Grey harbour shores, industrial chimneys.
West to Blue Mountains.
East to the beaches.
South to the workers,
North Sydney’s mistress.
The Centre bound fast.

Ch
She’s not a woman,
Nor a baby.
Born from afar.
Home for a season.
Hot as a mistress.
Cool as the daughter
Sunning herself in the dark water.

Beijing Duck tastes better in Sydney
Mumbai dishes. Didn’t he
Find a beautiful scallop.
A prawn on the barbie.
Cabramatta means lots of
Edible Insects. Breadbasket.
Vietnamese or Italian cuisine.

When I think of sport, I think of Sydney.
Rugby league, snobs play rugby.
AFL. Basketball. Cricket. Swimming.
Tennis. Baseball. Soccer and Diving.
She’s athletic and smart.
You should see her three sisters.
Her Darling Harbour. Her caves of mystery.

Ch
She’s not a woman,
Nor a baby.
Born from afar.
Home for a season.
Hot as a mistress.
Cool as the daughter
Sunning herself in the dark water.

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