Desolate fields,
Mounds concealing shafts
Dug by early fortune-hunters
Hopefully, quitting their stake within
Whiskers of wealth.
Opals, the elusive prey.*
Lightning Ridge.
Hour upon hour
We sieve dusty fields.
Nightfall, open camp,
Laying side-by-side, looking up,
Amazing sky, stunning show
Shooting, sparkling.
Together we gather
A most remarkable treasure.
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