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Array
(
[sid] => 37866
[catid] => 1
[aid] => mick
[title] => Barcoo Drover
[time] => 2004-03-08 20:38:56
[hometext] => The Barcoo is a river in the west of Qld. This poem comes from the many tourists who blow into small towns and historical sites without really finding out what makes it a special place. A whaler is a breed of wild horse.
[bodytext] => Beauty of the dawn is mine Frost still crisp and blue Magpie calls his early song Sun yet to light the hue. He rode in that chill grey dawn A figure stooped and cold, It was the Barcoo drover As mother had foretold. Rough and heavy fingers clenched A long and loose-held rein His wild Whaler pony pranced And shook his matted mane. Shabby was his style of garb Long hair with unshaved chin Moleskins that were worn with age From his coat he took a tin. He removed a picture from it Of a youth and clean-faced child Standing, smiling, hand in hand On replacing it he smiled. He looked beyond from where I stood To the house of our dearest mother Listening for her familiar sound Him, my Barcoo drover brother. “Where is our lovely mother lass? My blessing from above Why does she not come greet me? I beseech our Mother’s love.” A scant look of knowledge was all I gave And my eyes cast oe’r to a new filled grave Where now our sweet mother doth lay There were no words to say. He rode his pony to the quiet hill Knelt and mourned her there Then turned that pony from whence he came For life is hardly fair. He had left her there a letter Which I felt the need to read Written by her drover son A parting, faithful creed. Mother I have missed you My love for you burns bright So as I return to you today I wish to make things right. And I have been where the drovers go Where the ones that win are bold But that does not replace your love For it’s rich and treasured gold. No matter where I may stray Memories of you stay clear I will love you forever I’m so sorry mother dear. In the distance I saw him ride My big brother, my joy, my pride He came and went just like the tide “Come back, big brother!” I cried. A warmth swept over my back As if a comforting arm I sensed her familiar smell This quelled all my alarm. I felt her form there stand by me As he turned and waved goodbye Now when I think of the old Barcoo I remember them both; and cry. For he also died of a broken heart Under a lonely sad old tree My Barcoo drover brother Whose guilt was not set free. Wind blows through those twisted branches Dust swirls in a plaited cloud Silence is all-surrounding Loneliness was his shroud. What has happened to them? Laying in the parched red soil Do passers-by know what they gave? Do they know of their pain and toil? Are now their headstones merely images Upon a modern silken city screen Used to convey a way of life Of the likes *they can only dream? “Oh the hardships they were plenty Love, get me another wine.” And they would be mistaken Of our wonderful Barcoo time. I hear him ever-searching Upon the wind so shrill The Barcoo drover’s remorseful voice It calls me even still. Where is our dearest mother lass? Why does she not greet me? Where has she gone my sister? I must find her to be free. Guilt had burdened the drover’s mind From the day he went to roam For it was in a fit of rage That he wandered from his home. I saw our mother’s saddened face When he saddled up and rode To find a fate amongst the mobs Where the Barcoo River flowed. There were no words to say that day As we forever parted For the Barcoo drover left our mother Sadly broken-hearted. *they...modern city travelers [comments] => 5 [counter] => 212 [topic] => 31 [informant] => twinkletoes [notes] => (Edited by mod_10 as requested) [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 10 [ratings] => 2 [editpoem] => 0 [associated] => [topicname] => StoryPoetry )
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