SUNDAYS IN MY CITY
Any Sunday, any time, and any sort of season
Novocastrians take a drive, and for a very good reason.
They drive to the Hunter Valley through rich and ripening vines
Forgetting that, beneath them, lie the tunnels of the mines,
And they come upon Pokolbin, where the glorious gardens spread,
With the little Brokenback Mountains rising far ahead.
Twenty-five acres of gardens each with its own design
And outdoor tables made for lazing, sipping Hunter Valley wine.
With thirty-five thousand roses, they could wander round for weeks,
Unless they were diverted by the riveting boutiques!
It's a garden, it's a playground, it's a place to ease your mind,
The Hunter Valley Gardens are joy. And what a find!