There stands an old gum tree, it’s immense;
Next to land ringed by a solid fence.
Embedded in the trunk very deep,
Black metal cashbox, safely to keep.

Behind a bench, a slight figure forms,
Drawn face, cold grey eyes begin to warm.
‘The grip, scrumpox, burns, warts, sores, or chills?
I’ve tonics, lotions, pills for all ills!’

‘Cure’s on hand for aches, pains, blisters, gout.
Best int’all land,’ voice raises to shout.
‘Tinctures, potions, ointments, aplenty.
Discount to you when buying twenty.’

On emaciated frame hangs down,
A tattered and faded teal plaid gown.
‘Hark my words, come on over’, she sings.
Meanwhile, an unseen bell faintly rings.

Townsfolk give the woman, widest berth.
‘No place for phantoms on this green earth’.
Together, Moon, Sun shine; Winter sky.
Apparition fades at death knell’s sound.

There stands an old gum tree, it’s immense;
Next to land ringed by a solid fence.
Embedded in the trunk very deep,
Black metal cashbox, safely to keep.