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Poem

The annual migrat'ry trek of southern folk each year, 
Escaping chilly winter months, they mostly seem to fear, 
Sees four wheel drives and caravans of ev'ry shape and size 
Roll slowly northward searching out the sunshine they all prize. 
 
The backtrack to the outback takes folk up The Kidman Way, 
Through legendary, scenic, towns enticing them to stay 
A day or two while searching out historic tales of old, 
While making friendships many hold more precious than fine gold. 
 
Queensland's Matilda Highway carries folk still further North, 
Through Cunnamulla, Charleville and as they sally forth 
Enjoy the flora's many scents that nature does provide; 
That's all except the gidyea tree;  it stops them in their stride. 
 
Especially when summer rains have been abnorm'ly kind, 
Resulting in a pungent smell that plays upon the mind. 
Most couples can't ignore it as the odour is quite strong 
And usually the female says, "Hey love there's something wrong!" 
 
The other half then stops the car;  he hates to be henpecked, 
Concluding maybe it's the gas and ev'rything is checked.  
But, no, the bottle's quite secure, so carries on his way, 
Perplexed as to the odours source, much to his wife's dismay. 
 
Some females though will drive along content to show restraint, 
Acknowledging the woeful smell, but making no complaint. 
The sideways glances and the pout reveal they sense the source, 
Though put off by their other half's contempt to show remorse.  
 
But some blokes are all in the know and when their mate reacts 
They quickly set the matter straight by stating them the facts. 
"Excuse me!  It's the gidyea love;  might strong up here this year." 
"Oh, I know that," some then reply.  "I'm not that silly dear."

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