Look at the hills all covered in grass,
with sheep now grazing where grass was passed.
Look at the rocks shaped like Barney and Fred,
providing the home and a place for their head.
Scan over the trees and the trickling tarn,
where many a bloke will string out a yarn of the one got away, like the salmon or trout, drinking whiskey, watering trunks with girths so stout, raising their glasses in a frenzied toast.
And there in the kitchen is the wife and the roast of mutton and veggies for a fine repast
to remind us of hills all covered in grass.
Timaru, 7910
New Zealand