THE SWAGMAN
| He humped his swag in worn out boots Through heat and rain and dust He trudged from towns to squatter's spreads To earn a meagre crust His 'billy' timed his footsteps As it swung upon his back It clunked a song of heartbreak Of one more lonely track His hat was slightly tilted To protect his weary eyes Corks swayed tiredly from its brim To keep away the flies His face was gaunt and weathered His shoulders tired and bent His stomach cramped of hunger His life-source almost spent He heaved a sigh at sundown And stopped to make his camp The sweat had soaked his body His clothes were soiled and damp With trembling hand he lit his fire To toast his piece of bread His thoughts were of tomorrow And another shearing shed The unemployed were tramping From the coast to 'back of Burke' They were searching, ever searching For just one day of work He slowly sipped his mug of tea And nibbled at his toast His days were filled with sorrow But leaving home had hurt him most When he bid goodbye to wife and kids It almost broke his heart Until this damned 'depression' They had never been apart 'Til the country could recover He was doomed to ever roam In search of that elusive job To send some money home A vision flashed before his eyes The blood throbbed in his head He could see his dear wife kneeling beside their children's bed He felt the sharp pain spear him And he vainly clutched his chest His camp fire slowly dwindled The swagman was at rest K.D. Abbott © 2007 |
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