The Bushwhacker (1928)
In Campbelltown a man doth dwell
Who to and from each day
Doth ride full sixty miles or more,
Along the broad highway.
No whiskers mar his classic face,
Nor hair his shining pate ;
On short fat legs he swings along,
In real old sea-dog gait.
He rises from his couch ere morn,
Doth bid the fowls arise !
Then with a spanner smooths his brows
And to the railway hies.
He finds himself a window seat,
Inside a smokers' cage ;
Then lights his pipe and reads the news,
Unhurried, page by page.
No worried lines his face adorn,
He's nought to worry o'er:
Pay-day doth find him flushed with gold
Though broke for days before.
He hustles all the livelong day,
With papers, boats and men ;
And shortly after live o'clock
He bustles off again.
At nine each eve he wanders home
Along, the bushland track ;
His supper warms upon the stove,
His tea is oft-times black.
The week-end brings him peace and rest,
He strums the old "pianna"
Or else he dons his hunter's kit
And shoots the wild goanna.
Year in, year out, he hustles on,
And gathers wealth and fame,
Well ! good luck to the same old man,
And to his tribe the same.
Sent by "Kiwi" (Hazlette Linden).
Notes
From the Queensland Newspaper the Cairns Post 9 Apr 1928 p. 10.
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