~~~ Old Jacks Bitch ~~~

Old Jack the lonely swagman
Came tramping down the track,
With his billy can in his hand
And his swag upon his back.

Old blue his dog walked by his side
With six pups at her heal,
And the old bloke wondered just how long,
It was till their next meal.

It's been pretty hard he tells his dog
Since winters come along,
We very seldom see a bird
Or hear its morning song.

And the handouts that we used to get
Have seemed to all dried up,
So it won't be long me poor old mate,
Till we have to eat a pup.

His old dog seemed to understand
Those words that old Jack said,
She put her tail between her legs
And whined and bowed her head.

So we'll have to pick the fattest pup
To get a decent feed,
We should boil it up to make it soft,
Which puppy don't we need need?

As old Jack wandered on his way
His dog lagged to his back,
Then took her pups all one by one
Back down that tucker track.

She disappeared off in the scrub
With her six pups at her tail,
To leave old Jack to find a his feed
Along that tucker trail.

June 15, 2001

~~~ I'll Walk Those Tracks No More ~~~

I'll walk the track no more you see, my days are nearly done,
I feel it's time to go back to, where my life it once begun.
And when they say those words above, my aged and lifeless form
I'll return to all those tracks I tramped, in my life when I was born.

I've walked the tracks for many a year but no-where have I seen,
The sight of gum leaves when they're wet and the beauty of that sheen.
And that glisten of the ghost gums trunk when they're wet from winters rain,
It makes a man feel full of life and makes him free from pain.

And the sand it changes colour, from red to deep maroon,
And life bursts forth from dormant seeds, from which was once there home.
Then colours spring in every hue from trees and ground and grass,
And you pray to God that sight you see will never ever pass.

But, it does pass in time of course the now cannot remain,
So we walk those tracks and wait for it, to return again.
And when it does we know the truth, of love and our desire,
It kindles hearts and fills our soul of all that we admire.

Those tracks they mean so many things to those who wish to roam,
A place to walk, a place to sit, a place to call their home.
And the bush and trees that grow out there are homes for many things,
Home for man who's lost his way and to hear those echoes ring.

Those echoes are from beast and bird that roam, this some-times barren land,
But when the wet it comes each year and soaks that thirsty sand.
Those beasts and birds they come to life and their echoes disappear,
And they show them-selves to homeless men because they have no fear.

But, those days have gone when man can walk those tracks of long ago,
And the only beast or bird you'll see is road-kill, and the odd old crow.
And those trees that used to glisten, have been wood-chipped and are gone,
And it's seldom now that you will see, a bird or hear its song.

I'm glad I had the chance to see, and live my life out there,
Out on the track, out in the bush, and never have a care.
And to make friends with the beasts and birds and see the trees and scrub,
And to lay ont there on cloudless nights to see the stars above.

And smell the perfume of those flowers with shades of every hue,
And feel the sun on summers' days and see the sky of blue.
But my favourite time was in the wet when the rains came tumbling down.
And that land that once was barren, turns to a golden brown.

© June 8, 2002

~~ 579 ~~

~~~ The Ghosts Who Walk This Track ~~~

This track is long and dusty
As I head towards the sun,
I've tramped all day along this track
Not sighting anyone.
And as the dusk it slowly falls
The ghosts come out to play,
They are the ghosts who walked this track
In our yesterday.
Their voices call upon the wind
To tell of day's gone bye,
To tell of floods and famine
And when this land turned dry.
They tell of droving cattle or
To seek an ounce of gold,
And how they suffered from the heat
Or shivered from the cold.

They talked of water hard to find
While droving on these tracks,
And how they fought those skirmishes
With different tribes of blacks.
They tell of dogs and horses
And of men who made this land,
And how a mate helped out a mate
With a helping hand.
They talked of all those people
That searched this land for gold,
Who trekked across the wilderness
In chase of dreams untold.
Only then to leave their bones
In places far from home,
Along with many others
Who had the urge to roam.

I see them in my campfire-smoke
When I stop to have a feed,
Then, they settle down to have a yarn
And share a brew with me.
They tell me when this land was new
That life was good for all,
And they tell about the size of trees
And how they grew so tall.
And how each river, stream and creek,
Held fish's by the score,
And a shanty shack along the track
Kept an open door.
Where, man could get a drop of grog
No matter what his worth,
Because this track was the track
Where God had walked this earth.

© July 24, 2002

~~ 580 ~~

~~~ Winter on the Tramp ~~~

Tall are the trees, that bend on the breeze,
When the wind comes marching along,
And the wind seems to shout, as it whistles about,
Singing its wonderful song.

The wind sings and sighs, as it blows round the sky,
Telling sad tales of the past.
While the clouds march along, to the wind and its song,
As its music vibrates with each blast.

The swaggie looks up, to the towering sheoaks,
Then grabs his old dog by the ear,
And he says with a shout, that there isn't a doubt,
That winter, is finally here.

He throws wood on his fire, to make it burn higher,
As his dog curls up on its bag,
The swaggie, drinks up his brew, and takes off his shoes,
And retires to the warmth of his swag.

© June 4, 2000