David J. Delaney
I picture him now walking out-back roads
holed shoes rolled swag and dirt-y patched up coat.
His vivid memories to me he showed,
so in my book, his story I will quote.
He talks about the wonders of the track
how often while he’s walking, sings his song,
he treasures all that’s carried on his back
avoiding bustling, noisy city throng.
He loves this freedom swears he’ll not return,
again designing suburbs all so grand
where acres of trees they fell then clear and burn,
then build their mansions on the barren land.
Consumed by wealth, their power and their greed
polluted air and deadly acid rains,
do banking giants care if you might bleed
they con with ease and baffle people’s brains.
He’s wandered years, this educated man
absorbing nature’s forests, lakes or plains,
this college graduate who loves the land
the gouged raped land he always feels its pains.
He knows the beauty of a misty dawn
while camping on a foggy mountain top;
breathtaking scenes that just can’t be out-worn,
while in the distance agile joeys hop.
Drink crystal water from the trickling stream
and not from plastic bottles that pollute.
To lie beneath the sparkling stars and dream
the beauty of the land one can’t refute.
Wet season rains now giving life from drought
as rainbows cross what was once dusty land;
for now our precious country leaves no doubt
we can’t destroy this beauty that’s so grand.
Now sitting closer, by his golden fire
we are as one in the Australian bush;
while birds sing like a never ending choir
as burning branches now I poke and push.
His old black billy boils the water hot
he pours a cup of strong refreshing brew
sits back enjoys this isolated spot
then says he shares his fire with only few.
With morning he will pack and then move forth
he’s moving from approaching winter cold
these days prefers the warmth of the far north
arthritic bones now take a painful hold.
He’ll never live in an old people’s home
so sternly did he make this point to me
traversing this great land he’ll always roam
while cooking damper, drinking billy tea.
Until that day beside an old ghost gum
his body lies beneath the clear blue skies
a life now ends its travels with the sun
and then, throughout the land his spirit flies.
©Copyright August 12, 2008 by David J. Delaney