Cheerily sings the drover
With his stock so fat and sleek
Up to the border and over
His fortune for to seek.
Merrily sings the drover
For with luck upon his side.
There’ll be Mitchell grass and clover
And creeks ten miles wide.
Dismally sings the drover
For himself and his luck fell out
But still he rides on like a lover
lnto the arms of the drought.
Mournfully sings the drover
As his stock die one by one.
Wild dogs and eagles hover
And bones turn white in the sun.
Wearily sighs the drover
As he lies him down on the plain
To sleep with his swag for a cover
Til the grass springs green again.
Eerily walls the drover
When the drought wind sweeps the sky
And men say ‘Hear the plover!’
As he moves the ghost mob by.
Patrick Durack (1834 - 1898) Australia (born Ireland)
No comments:
Post a Comment
Please keep your comments relevant and free from abusive language. Thank you. Note that comments are moderated so it may be a day or two before your comment is posted - irrelevant or abusive comments will not be published.