Ray Essery

I trudge along this weary road
my heart is in dejection,
where have all the jerseys gone
and other herds to mention.
The country's gone quiet now
since old cocky's gone away.
Now tall camphors grow
where poddys used to play.

Now and then I see the butt
of some old iron bark
and hear the chatter of timber getters
working in the dark.

"Look out Billy, stand too, Jack,
the trees she's coming down
get the bullocks and back ‘em up
we’re heading into town."

Down the road comes Mrs. Clarke
in a buggy Oh! so grand,
her little pony stepping high
the reins in glove held hands,
she's off to buy the flour
Down at Coraki.
The old cream boat whistles
as she goes sailing by.

The old draught horse waits
head nodding in a dream
while old cocky’s in the shed
churning out the cream.
The seasons been a bumper
the clover growing high
the milkers head for cover
there's storm clouds in the sky.

The old cream truck appears
followed by smoke and steam
the cans are stacking higher
full to the brim with cream.
There’s kiddies sitting in the back
each can for a stool.
They’re off to do their sums
at the old bush school.

Yes! My heart is in dejection
as I see those days off past.
Little ponies, old cream trucks
and ships with tall white masts,
and as my final curtain falls
these words I must deliver
of those roaring days
on the banks of the Richmond river.