THE DROVER
| His youth is far behind him Yet he feels no yearning pain He has lived a life that pleased him He would do it all again He had been a loving husband Until the wife he loved had died Yet each evening as he thinks of her She's still there at his side He looks so calm and peaceful In his favourite easy-chair To his children he's a hero And they give him loving care They listen so intently To the life he used to live They love to hear his stories He has so much to give He had fought the wrath of seasons Through torments so severe He's a bushman and a drover He's a man of yesteryear His face is weather beaten His head is capped with snow His hands are rough and wrinkled But in his heart there is a glow From his store of distant memories He rolls the years away To a life of droving cattle In a younger, distant day He can see the cattle shuffling Across an endless plain And smell the scent of leather Of the saddle and the rein Again he feels the motion Of the horse he rode with pride He can see the faithful beauty In the dog that's at their side His two best friends are with him Though the years they shared are past But he sees them oh, so clearly They made memories that will last Once more he lights his campfire The memory lingers yet He can hear the curlews calling As the sun begins to set The kangaroo and emu Unmolested, dashing by And he watches as they disappear Beneath a darkening sky Before he eats his supper His horse and dog are fed he'll savour one more 'cuppa' And then it's time for bed His bed is just a ground-sheet Beneath a billion stars He is lulled to sleep with music By the bushland's own guitars The muted, creaking Gum trees The music of the grass It sings its song so softly As the gentle breezes pass The leaves that softly rustle In the branches overhead Seem to bring an inner feeling Nature's prayers are being said An orchestra of crickets With their happy warbling sound Reinforcing sweet contentment For here true peace is found The tinkle of a laughing stream A far off night owl's call His old dog's rhythmic breathing The nicest sound of all And he knows that trusty Rover Without a single word Will Chase marauding dingoes That stalk the sleeping herd And then to wake at daybreak And fill his sleepy eyes With the beauty of the artist Who paints the morning skies He can clearly see old Banjo Swish his tail and nod his head It's his special morning greeting Rover wags his tail instead The fragrance of the bushland That fills the morning air Awakens all his senses It's a scent beyond compare There's flashing hooves and flying mane And heads held high with pride As the Brumbies dash at daybreak Across the countryside A true part of our history They're with us even now Though hunted by a ruthless few They still survive somehow Again he lights his campfire And the smoke swirls through the air He hears the crackle of the fire It's as if he's really there He saddles up and moves the herd Toward the rising sun His dog hunts up the stragglers And a new day has begun Today they'll swim a flowing stream And brave the wide, brown land He'll sit astride old Banjo With Rover close at hand His hat is tilted forward So there's shade upon his eyes The sun is one giant furnace In the cloudless summer skies The sun beats down relentlessly Til the earth around him bakes He remembers summer evenings And his duels with poisonous snakes Neath towering mountain ranges Through valleys cool and green Past stands of yellow Wattle trees His mind recalls each scene Midst blazing heat and teeming rain And icy winds that blew He'd see his herd home safely It was a job he loved to do There are oh, so many wondrous things His memory can recall But the memories of his family Are the sweetest ones of all When the cattle drive was over How his weary heart would yearn For the happy, loving family That greeted his return He now is in his eighties But while his memories thrive His mind is very active He's very much alive He can see the past so clearly And the scenes he wont forget For in his mind and in his spirit He's a drover even yet K.D. Abbott © 2008 |
| NOTE: Supper: Evening meal Cuppa: Cup of tea Brumbies: Feral horses Dingoes: Feral dogs Crickets: A group of insects related to grasshoppers. Curlew: The Bush Stone-Curlew is a bird with a wailing, almost ghostly call. It is ground-dwelling and mainly nocturnal. 
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