For the Crest and Country - A Toowoomba Grammar Poem by 6.
They say we’re too far from the fight,
Just country kids without the light.
Not built for speed, or city praise—
Just names they’ll skim and never raise.
But doubt is fuel for boys like these,
Born of wind and wintered trees.
They know the weight of waking early,
Of fields still hard, of hands grown burly.
They’ve heard it all—“Too slow, too small,”
But grit stands taller than them all.
No cameras here, no glamour plays—
Just tackles made a thousand ways.
They play for crest, for blood, for kin,
For lands where silence teaches win.
For cattle towns and names unsaid,
For brothers watching overhead.
So let them scoff, and write us off,
We don’t need gold, or chants, or gloss.
We’ve got the dirt, the drive, the steel—
And hearts they’ll never try to feel.
This year, this side, this time is yours—
A hundred fifty rising years.
To prove that country boys still stand—
With calloused strength and weathered hands.