This poem was written by a man who like us, is passionate about utilizing
timbers that have been pulled out of constructions built back when our
Australian hardwood timbers were cheap, plentiful and under valued, and
reusing them in a very worthwhile manner. In our case, creating something
that is utilitarian on one hand and oozing with character and 'soul' on
the other. This is timber with history and a story and this poem
exemplifies that so beautifully.
I stood astride the ranges four hundred years or more,
My limbs reach out to fight for light and make me forest lord.
From hungry ground I drew my blood to quench a fiery thirst,
The granite rocks around me - my roots smashed into earth.
They came with sombre faces - had murder in their eye,
Cursing as they fought me - swore I would surely die.
Dark was near "farewell my mates" - I thundered to the ground,
And swore an oath - "four hundred years - still my soul will be
Dawn was fresh - they stripped me bare - lopped me at the
I kicked and wrenched and twisted - they cleaved me up the
Squared me into sections - two big hand spans by five,
Don't gloat you forest butchers for I am still alive.
Ten thousand tons a week I bore as a staunch on in a bridge,
Across the Kiewa river - far from my native ridge.
And down the years I fought the loads and twisted bucked and
"You've worked my hard you bastards, but I am never
Treat me gentle now - with reverence- for I've surely done it
Of bucking twisting fighting, I've really had enough.
A long grand table, this time, is my final place of rest,
Proud that I'm still classed - a king among the best.
Take me, share me, love me, help keep away the tears
I'll be true to your family for at least three hundred
Barry Donchi - Timber Recycler, Conversationalist, Timber Lover
Managing Director Nullarbor Forest Timber Industries