The Hat of Faded Gold

A treasure that has stood the test of time and country dust,
Or being trodden on after it fell.
With a brim the shade of palomino and a smell of paddock air,
This Akubra has some stories to tell.
As I place it on my head I can hear whispering wind,
It's the year 1935.
I recognise a young figure as he rides his stock horse,
All of a sudden I feel so alive.
They're all sitting around a fire, all twelve children might I say,
A tin shack behind them is what they call home.
The moo of cattle in the distance shatters the silence of the night,
A place where country folk go to roam.
It's the time of World War 2 but the rural outback is unscathed,
As the country town of Elsmore is working hard
Leaving school at 14 and working diligently to earn a wage,
While continuing to maintain the yard.
The yellowed fields are like a mattered beard, the trees like dying burrs,
A kaleidoscope of rugged rocky plains.
And there he comes riding towards me wearing the hat of faded gold,
Gesturing for me to come and stay.
I slip the hat off my head and hand it to my grandpa,
As he finishes talking about his lifetime,
He hands the old Akubra back to me, as I dream about those good old days,
Maybe a story for another time.