There is creativity in every corner of the Weddin Shire and one of the many that embody that spirit is Grenfell's Robyn Murphy.

As the Henry Lawson Festival of the Arts gets underway today, Robyn has reflected on a lifetime of music, storytelling and community involvement that has helped shape the festival for nearly three decades.

A Grenfell resident for 50 years, Robyn has written a number of songs over the years, several of which have been recorded.

Among her best-known works are Ballad of the Weddin Mountains and Mr Lawson, both recorded by Rob Fairbairn during the 1980s.

Robyn said the inspiration for Ballad of the Weddin Mountains came from a familiar sight close to home.

"I wrote it from looking out my back door at the Weddin Mountains," she said.

Her song Mr Lawson was inspired by the life and writings of Australia's legendary bush poet Henry Lawson, whose legacy remains at the heart of the annual festival that bears his name.

While songwriting has been a passion throughout her life, Robyn is also known for her long-standing contribution to the Henry Lawson Festival of the Arts.

Twenty-seven years ago, she started the festival's busking competition, which has since become a popular feature of the event.

Robyn's involvement began after attending the Tamworth Country Music Festival, where people encouraged her to bring a similar busking experience to Grenfell.

For many years, she helped organise and support the competition, watching it grow from humble beginnings.

At its peak, the event attracted up to 30 buskers eager to showcase their musical talents.

Robyn has also remained active in the local music scene through local school talent quest judging and supporting emerging performers across the region.

As another Henry Lawson Festival begins, Robyn's songs and contributions are a reminder of the rich artistic talent that exists throughout the Weddin Shire.

From the inspiration of the Weddin Mountains to the enduring influence of Henry Lawson, her music captures the stories, landscapes and people that make the district unique.

Ballad of the Weddin Mountain

As I look out my back door, I can see

The Weddin Mountain looking back at me

Across the grassy valley, where sheep and cattle graze

And suddenly my mind goes back to the bushranging days

Chorus

How I wish the Weddin Mountain could open up to me

And tell me all the secrets that it's held through history

And I wonder if the Mountain ever cried

Or mourned the day a young bushranger died

Ben Hall and his gang were wild and reckless men

They roamed in hidden places where few have ever been

Driven by misfortune they turned against the law

And plundered from the rich, they say, to help the weak and poor

Ben Hall beat the troopers, strong men of the Crown

It took a friend's betrayal to bring the Outlaw down

And there will be forever a memory tinged with shame

Of the whispered words of treachery that scared the Lachlan Plains

Chorus

How I wish the Weddin Mountain could open up to me

And tell me all the secrets that it's held through history

And I wonder if the Mountain ever cried

Or mourned the day a young bushranger died

Was on a soft and silent early autumn morn

Black tracker Dilly Dargin crept up on poor Ben Hall

So many times before ahead of them he'd fled

But this time as he lay asleep they shot the Outlaw dead

Chorus

Oh I wish the Weddin Mountain could open up to me

And tell me all the secrets that it's held through history

And I wonder if the Mountain ever cried

Or mourned the day

Oh, I wish the Weddin Mountain could open up to me

And tell me all the secrets that it's held through history

And I wonder if the Mountain ever cried

Or mourned the day a young bushranger died

Mr Lawson

Back in 1867 Peter Lawson with his wife came to Grenfell Town in search of gold

From every corner of the world they came to try their hand

And soon the valleys echoed as the miners' shovels rang

The little town was booming as gold fever gripped the land

On a cold, dark, frosty night build up to a storm

By One Mile Creek a baby boy was born

His father was a labourer, his mother had no nurse

But one day he would leave his mark imprinted on this earth

And we'll remember Grenfell as the place of Lawson's birth

He spent little time in school-rooms, he preferred the skies

Teaching came from those who drifted by open

The swaggie and the shearers who he never saw again

And as he grew, he wandere3d with the drovers on the plains

From the Barcoo to the Murray, through drought and flooding rains

Chorus

Won't you tell us all a story Mr Lawson

Won't you tell us all about the days gone by

About Joe Wilson and his mates and the drover's wife, she waits

We could use a real good story, you and I

Yes, we sure could use a story, you and I

As he roamed, he penned the stories and the verse we all hold dear

Became Australia's great Bush Balladeer,

Of those who tell the stories, there are some who will stand tall

The painters and the poets, how the years will hear them call

And our own Henry Lawson, well, he's up there with them all

Chorus

Won't you tell us all a story Mr Lawson

Won't you tell us all about the days gone by

About Joe Wilson and his mates and the drover's wife, she waits

We could use a real good story, you and I

Yes, we sure could use a story, you and I

Won't you tell us all a story Mr Lawson

Won't you tell us all about the days gone by

About Joe Wilson and his mates and the drover's wife, she waits

We could use a real good story, you and I

Yes, we sure could use a story, you and I