THE LONGYARD
Posted: Tue Feb 08, 2011 10:24 am
THE LONGYARD
The shadows lengthen into dark beneath the she oak tree.
Lit by the fires red and blue flame flicker..
In the black billy water boils and roils - he throws in tea,
hears his mare Dark Thunder softly whicker.
He sits wrapped in a blanket, quietly contemplates the night.
Somewhere nearby he hears a mopoke call.
His days work‘s done, it’s time to roll a smoke and have a brew,
he’d done what he’d set out to after all.
No need to wait for buses or to travel far on trains.
No need of clocks or watches way out here.
His transport is four legged and she’s guided by the reins.
His days are long – but hard work holds no fear.
He hears the local Tiddalik, the water holding frogs
start their concert , from within dam waters brown.
He sees a cloud, a colony of fruit bats heading out
to feeding fields – the orchards close to town.
Around him ghostlike wraiths drift by – but they don’t worry him.
He knows it’s the ewes and lambs out feeding.
His two dogs sleep beside the fire – unworried by it’s sounds,
they’re both still – but he knows that they are breathing.
He pours another brew into the old enamelled mug,
and banks the fire down safely for the night.
His swag is waiting ready – he won’t need rocking to sleep,
the land of nod will claim him till first light.
They’ve many miles to travel as they slowly head for home
where rains have fallen bringing sweet relief.
His paddocks now will wear a mantle, green and soft and sweet
a sight so wondrous it beggars belief.
At first light bright and early as the Kookaburras call,
he’d saddle up Dark Thunder – move the mob
out on the longyard. A head start ‘fore the morning mist burns off,
and heat makes worse a dusty sweaty job.
He’d become used to brown for it was all he’d seen for years,
which was why he rode the longyard months on end.
A solitary seeker of the green for sheep and steers,
but the best road was the one that homeward wends.
The shadows lengthen into dark beneath the she oak tree.
Lit by the fires red and blue flame flicker..
In the black billy water boils and roils - he throws in tea,
hears his mare Dark Thunder softly whicker.
He sits wrapped in a blanket, quietly contemplates the night.
Somewhere nearby he hears a mopoke call.
His days work‘s done, it’s time to roll a smoke and have a brew,
he’d done what he’d set out to after all.
No need to wait for buses or to travel far on trains.
No need of clocks or watches way out here.
His transport is four legged and she’s guided by the reins.
His days are long – but hard work holds no fear.
He hears the local Tiddalik, the water holding frogs
start their concert , from within dam waters brown.
He sees a cloud, a colony of fruit bats heading out
to feeding fields – the orchards close to town.
Around him ghostlike wraiths drift by – but they don’t worry him.
He knows it’s the ewes and lambs out feeding.
His two dogs sleep beside the fire – unworried by it’s sounds,
they’re both still – but he knows that they are breathing.
He pours another brew into the old enamelled mug,
and banks the fire down safely for the night.
His swag is waiting ready – he won’t need rocking to sleep,
the land of nod will claim him till first light.
They’ve many miles to travel as they slowly head for home
where rains have fallen bringing sweet relief.
His paddocks now will wear a mantle, green and soft and sweet
a sight so wondrous it beggars belief.
At first light bright and early as the Kookaburras call,
he’d saddle up Dark Thunder – move the mob
out on the longyard. A head start ‘fore the morning mist burns off,
and heat makes worse a dusty sweaty job.
He’d become used to brown for it was all he’d seen for years,
which was why he rode the longyard months on end.
A solitary seeker of the green for sheep and steers,
but the best road was the one that homeward wends.
