Homework W/E 30/7/18 Farewell Old Mate, Farewell
Posted: Mon Jul 16, 2018 12:29 pm
Farewell Old Mate, Farwell
A crimson glow still paints the sky along the western track,
and dusk had spread it’s hazy veil throughout the vast outback.
Our campfire casts a warming glow as eerie shadows dance,
and darkness hides the barren scene found in this great expanse.
Hushed voices talk about a mate whose spirit we’d set free,
from high up on this breakaway – a place he’d wish to be.
We’d made a solemn promise when he knew his time was near,
to spread his ashes out across this land he loved so dear.
A gentle breeze had seen his ashes scattered far and wide,
then faded as the sun had set until at last it died.
We’d looked across the harsh landscape that seemed to cry for rain,
Yet he had loved this rugged land – at last he’s home again.
We’d headed back to camp; there still was one more thing to do,
to carry out our promise to a mate we just called Blue.
A distant curlew started up a far off mournful dirge,
that echoed through the silence and across the stony verge.
We opened up the beer with care as not to be too soon,
then drank his health as promised with the rising of the moon.
A creepy sort of feeling drifted through our rough bush shed,
the night grew still - The Curlew ceased its wailing for the dead.
© T. E. Piggott
A crimson glow still paints the sky along the western track,
and dusk had spread it’s hazy veil throughout the vast outback.
Our campfire casts a warming glow as eerie shadows dance,
and darkness hides the barren scene found in this great expanse.
Hushed voices talk about a mate whose spirit we’d set free,
from high up on this breakaway – a place he’d wish to be.
We’d made a solemn promise when he knew his time was near,
to spread his ashes out across this land he loved so dear.
A gentle breeze had seen his ashes scattered far and wide,
then faded as the sun had set until at last it died.
We’d looked across the harsh landscape that seemed to cry for rain,
Yet he had loved this rugged land – at last he’s home again.
We’d headed back to camp; there still was one more thing to do,
to carry out our promise to a mate we just called Blue.
A distant curlew started up a far off mournful dirge,
that echoed through the silence and across the stony verge.
We opened up the beer with care as not to be too soon,
then drank his health as promised with the rising of the moon.
A creepy sort of feeling drifted through our rough bush shed,
the night grew still - The Curlew ceased its wailing for the dead.
© T. E. Piggott
