Beyond the iron, rusted and grand, Lie stories etched in Portsea sand. Through four tall gates, the secrets climb, In Victoria’s Gateways Through Time. The Emanuel key turns in the lock, To a world before the concrete and dock. Where McKenzie drew his emerald lines, And soldiers marched past fortress pines.
Look for the Lion, the Angel, the Key, To hear the whispers of history. From a rude Myna bird in a Victorian cage, To the Charleston dancers who took to the stage. Mind the Old Walls that sleep under the grass, And the Ghost of the Greens as you quietly pass. The puddles are ancient, the stories are deep, Wake the memories the iron gates keep. Click a portal, follow the guide, Unlock the wonders hidden inside.
