Why wasn’t I born a drover, out there upon the plain?
Why wasn’t I born a drover whose foes were wind and rain.
I know dust and rain and loneliness are places I could live
for I feel that they’ve a purpose; there’s wisdom they can give.
I think that an old drover is something I could be
unlike the life we lead today I know I’d feel more free.
I’d head up there where Clancy rides and learn from a real pro
I’d learn to weild a stock whip out on the Overflow.
and if I died out on the plains it wouldn’t matter much
I know my bleached white bones would feel the earths sweet touch.

About a foolhardy florilegium

Nullius addictus iurare in verba magistri, quo me cumque rapit tempestas, deferor hospes.
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