Ringwood

Ringwood's town stood by the track
   Thirty years ago
Crude as any town Outback --
Tangled weeds and tumbled shack --
   Dull was she, and slow,
Viewing life as they who move
Ever in the same old groove.

Ringwood murmured in her sleep
   Twenty years ago;
Destined soon to rise and reap
Weeds from many a tangled heap,
   Setting trees to grow --
Setting graceful shrubs and trees
With green lawns about their knees.

Ringwood waxed in civic grace
   Ten short years ago,
Making here a gay, green place,
Banning, one by one, each trace
   Of cruder days and slow,
Revealing e'er a goodly growth
In pride and in adornment both.

Ringwood now draws to the verge
   Of yet lovelier days,
Moved, by this new ear's urge,
Her rusticity to merge
   With ordered, urban ways,
Till she becomes a part, perchance,
Of the city's broad expanse.