TRAVELLING HOME
Posted: Sat Oct 08, 2011 1:15 pm
TRAVELLING HOME
He was travelling home from the middle of nowhere,
and still five miles out with the horse and the dog.
Months had passed since he’d last ridden these paddocks
that now carried grass near knee high to a hog.
He’d taken a mob on the roads out to Wyndham –
now they sailed the seas Indonesia bound,
but with the bad news he was hearing from that place
his conscience was pricking him now he had found.
Bad timing it was – for the Government stepped in
and lifted the ban and he had to let go,
for they needed the money to keep the place running
without it the whole thing would be a no show.
But he hoped and he prayed that their end would be quick
for to think of them suffering he couldn’t bear,
all these thoughts were besieging his mind with images
still five miles out in the midst of nowhere.
He wasn’t a bloke with a good education,
life had been his teacher and life had been hard
but he thought they would make it if they got through this year
both he and the missus had done the hard yard.
The homestead now echoed, with corridors empty,
the kids had all gone just the last one at school;
and he didn’t hold out too much hope they’d be taking
over the reins from him. Not one was a fool.
But this place was his mistress, destiny and nemesis.
He knew no other – nor other had craved.
It had been handed down over five generations
of hard working families who saw the land saved,
from rich Asian buyers , developers, blockies
who for the lands history had no care or fear.
They still claimed the land, those who worked here before him
on this stretch of country. They were buried here.
And he thought when his time came and he’d meet his maker
he’d stride right up to him and wish him G’day.
Shake hands as a man does, and chat ‘bout the weather
call old dogs to heel before heading away.
He reckoned that he’d still watch over this place
just as he’d done now for nigh on fifty years.
Most folks wouldn’t see him up where angels fly,
some would see him through sad eyes misted with tears.
He was travelling home from the middle of nowhere……………………………….
Maureen Clifford © 10/11
He was travelling home from the middle of nowhere,
and still five miles out with the horse and the dog.
Months had passed since he’d last ridden these paddocks
that now carried grass near knee high to a hog.
He’d taken a mob on the roads out to Wyndham –
now they sailed the seas Indonesia bound,
but with the bad news he was hearing from that place
his conscience was pricking him now he had found.
Bad timing it was – for the Government stepped in
and lifted the ban and he had to let go,
for they needed the money to keep the place running
without it the whole thing would be a no show.
But he hoped and he prayed that their end would be quick
for to think of them suffering he couldn’t bear,
all these thoughts were besieging his mind with images
still five miles out in the midst of nowhere.
He wasn’t a bloke with a good education,
life had been his teacher and life had been hard
but he thought they would make it if they got through this year
both he and the missus had done the hard yard.
The homestead now echoed, with corridors empty,
the kids had all gone just the last one at school;
and he didn’t hold out too much hope they’d be taking
over the reins from him. Not one was a fool.
But this place was his mistress, destiny and nemesis.
He knew no other – nor other had craved.
It had been handed down over five generations
of hard working families who saw the land saved,
from rich Asian buyers , developers, blockies
who for the lands history had no care or fear.
They still claimed the land, those who worked here before him
on this stretch of country. They were buried here.
And he thought when his time came and he’d meet his maker
he’d stride right up to him and wish him G’day.
Shake hands as a man does, and chat ‘bout the weather
call old dogs to heel before heading away.
He reckoned that he’d still watch over this place
just as he’d done now for nigh on fifty years.
Most folks wouldn’t see him up where angels fly,
some would see him through sad eyes misted with tears.
He was travelling home from the middle of nowhere……………………………….
Maureen Clifford © 10/11