They toiled in the heat, in the wet and cold,
The sturdy sawyers in days of old ;
One man on the log, and his mate below,
Pulling the keen blade to and fro.
And this they heard in the rasp and ring--
Or fancied they heard-the pit-saw ring:
Rip and tear ! and it's little I care
What logs they give me, or when, or where ;
How great their girth, how long they be,
Or whether a gum, or an ironbark tree;
How hard their timber, how close their grain
It troubles me little: I saw them in twain.
There are weatherboard houses to build each roof
Needs a rafter frame to make it proof.
With bark or shingles, against the rain,
When storms shall come with their wind and strain.
And the floors need boards, and the walls their studs,
And bridges are building to span the floods.
So, up and down, with regular swing,
Like a hiving-bee I follow the string,
Creeping, creeping, I follow the track,
Gnawing the sap-line white or black,
With seldom a pause, save to grease my sides,
When a line is run, and a log divides.
--WILL CARTER.
Notes
From the NSW Newspaper The Windsor and Richmond Gazette 26 Dec 1930 p. 12.
Top