Queensland State Archives posted a photo:
The Old Homestead.
Above it dark ranges are looming
Forbidding, and gaunt in the moonlight.
In the valleys the night-wind is crooning,
Awakening the voices of night.
The stars are like eyes that are seeing
The slow ruin the years will bring;
The hopes grown old are now fleeing,
Eyes once bright are now dim.
The walls that echoed with laughter
Hear only the hoot of an owl;
And the creak of a rotting rafter,
Or a far-off dingo’s howl.
The gardens were masses of roses
And sweet with the scent of the flower;
A tumble-down fence now encloses
The tall, rank grass grown sour.
And where have the folk all vanished
Who lived in this lonely home?
Why have they all been banished
And driven the world to roam?
The Drought King could tell you the reason
And flood played its part as well,
So the banks had little to seize on
But the land, and the old home to sell.
A neighbour bought runs and the ranges,
And the