Homework w/e 22/9/2014 - The Droving Days
Posted: Wed Sep 10, 2014 12:22 pm
Forgive me Banjo for the liberties taken here
The Droving Days
“Only a pound,” said the auctioneer
“Only a pound; for the drovers gear
Selling this junk, be it gain or not-
Only a pound for all of this lot?
likely vintage stuff in here I’ll swear;
Only a little the worse for wear;
Plenty as bad to be found in town,
Give me a bid and I’ll knock it down;
Sold as it lies, and without recourse,
Give me a bid and this junk is yours.”
Loitering there in an aimless way,
Somehow I noticed him old and grey.
Weary and battered and drunk of course,
Yet when I noticed the old bloke’s horse-
Without a saddle or single rein;
Saw the old blokes hand on its tangled mane.
Straightway the crowd and the auctioneer,
Seemed on a sudden to disappear.
Melted away in a kind of haze-
For my mind went back to the droving days
Back to the pubs and sloshed again,
After six months on the salt bush plain.
Full as a boot from too much beer,
Ending up broke like the old bloke here.
Threatened those days for unpaid bills;
Riding like hell for the far off hills.
“Only a pound and I’m going to sell,”
So I made a bid, saying what the hell;
Third and last time one two three,
And the old bloke’s gears knocked down to me.
Taking it over to where he stood,
Handed it back and I felt real good.
Shaking his hand and wishing him well;
whether it sunk in, was hard to tell.
Drunk as a skunk and still in a daze,
Could have been me in the droving days.
-----------
© T.E. Piggott
The Droving Days
“Only a pound,” said the auctioneer
“Only a pound; for the drovers gear
Selling this junk, be it gain or not-
Only a pound for all of this lot?
likely vintage stuff in here I’ll swear;
Only a little the worse for wear;
Plenty as bad to be found in town,
Give me a bid and I’ll knock it down;
Sold as it lies, and without recourse,
Give me a bid and this junk is yours.”
Loitering there in an aimless way,
Somehow I noticed him old and grey.
Weary and battered and drunk of course,
Yet when I noticed the old bloke’s horse-
Without a saddle or single rein;
Saw the old blokes hand on its tangled mane.
Straightway the crowd and the auctioneer,
Seemed on a sudden to disappear.
Melted away in a kind of haze-
For my mind went back to the droving days
Back to the pubs and sloshed again,
After six months on the salt bush plain.
Full as a boot from too much beer,
Ending up broke like the old bloke here.
Threatened those days for unpaid bills;
Riding like hell for the far off hills.
“Only a pound and I’m going to sell,”
So I made a bid, saying what the hell;
Third and last time one two three,
And the old bloke’s gears knocked down to me.
Taking it over to where he stood,
Handed it back and I felt real good.
Shaking his hand and wishing him well;
whether it sunk in, was hard to tell.
Drunk as a skunk and still in a daze,
Could have been me in the droving days.
-----------
© T.E. Piggott