An Old Man's Vows.

[thestoryteller]

AN OLD MAN’S VOWS

He stood by the pepper tree down by the stream
and his eyes were cast down at the mound,
the hurt in his heart, which he’d carried for years,
now displaced by the peace he had found.
The promise he'd made to himself years ago
he'd fulfilled as he'd promised he would
and the daughter and grandson he'd lost years ago
lay together as he'd deemed they should.

He’d known that the filly was vicious, strong willed,
but the lad was so wilful and game.
He’d only gone down to the two mile that day,
still he failed to return all the same.
His mother searched tirelessly all through the night
and for days rode the ranges in hope.
But sadly she pined and she faded and cried,
till her small frame could no longer cope.

He laid her to rest ‘neath the pepper trees’ shade
and he vowed to his God and to her,
he’d search for the bonnie, young, winsome lad’s bones
till the ranges declared where they were.
He too was determined to track down the mare,
that now ran with the ranks of the free,
but pledged in his heart he would have recompense
for the bones ‘neath the ironbark tree.

Year in and year out the old man rode the range
and he searched every gully and ridge.
Astride his old grey with his packhorse in tow,
he forged on with his bold pilgrimage.
At times he would sight the wild mob and the mare,
but they sensed the man’s presence and fled.
Though filled with a will to win out in his quest,
the old man set his course straight ahead.

One morning he focused his sight on a range
where a column of smoke caught his eye.
The scrub was alight and engulfing the trees
and the wild winds forced flames t’wards the sky.
The old man sought shelter away from its wrath
in the bowels of a cave and gave prayer.
Though thick choking smoke and the blistering heat
had him gasping and choking for air.

The danger now gone he walked out from the cave
and the vision he met at its mouth
was one of stark contrast, the landscape lay bare,
and the fire front raced further south.
The old man now ragged and wilting in strength
knew the fire had dealt him a blow,
but urged his grey down the steep slope of the ridge
where the ironbarks grew down below.

His pathway lay blocked by a large fallen limb
and beneath it there laid a charred frame,
not human in structure, but that of a horse,
though it caused him to stop all the same.
The singed hide was chestnut and that of a mare.
Yes, the quarry he’d sought for so long.
Then anger gave way and tears welled in his eyes
and a magpie burst forth into song.

For lying beside her obscured by her frame,
lay the bones of his daughter’s lost son.
The old iron bark recompensed him that day,
but the old man sensed no one had won.
He laid the boy’s bones in the packsaddle bags
and the horse showed approval and neighed.
And a calm inner peace now pervaded the man;
he’d fulfilled both the vows he had made.

It has always been in the back of my mind to write a sequel to Banjo Paterson’s poem Lost. I have always felt that the old man would never have any peace of mind until he found the boy’s bones and lay them to rest next to his mother. The sequence of events which led up to fulfilling the vow evolved as I wrote the poem. I hope it does something for someone.

From the book Keeping the Culture.

[Shelley Hansen]

Hi Merv

This is a truly worthy sequel! I was reading from the top, and long before I got to your comment at the bottom I realised that it was continuing the story of "Lost".

You've certainly achieved your aim and provided closure for your readers as well as the poem's characters.

Cheers
Shelley

[Maureen K Clifford]

A beautiful sequel indeed - nicely crafted

[thestoryteller]

Hi Shelley.

Tossed this around in my head for a couple of years then finally put it together.

Thanks for sharing.

[thestoryteller]

Hi Maureen.

Appreciate your sharing this with us.



Merv.