The Old Bloke from The Widgeree

G'day there mates.....do hope all is well with you,staying isolated and maintaining distances when out and about. Should not be too long now and we all should be allowed to wander the country side and enjoy the outdoor life. 

I had been interacting with a mate up north, he has been spending time through the lock down perusing my Blog, he tells me he has enjoyed my rhyming skills and would like to read some more, so, here I am posting another from my collection, one from the back blocks of the Outback, so, hope you all take the time to immerse yourselves deep within each line, and picture yourselves along on the ride...hope you enjoy.

Take care now, stay safe and well....hooroo from Dazza.

THE OLD BLOKE FROM THE WIDGEREE

I’d been asked to write a story about beyond the city lights,

A story about the old times, the pioneers, and their plights,

I’d yarned with many a shearer, roustabout, and ringer too…

Now, here I am in the Widgeree, on the banks of the old Barcoo.

Yes, I was halfway to nowhere when a campsite I did see,

I saw a green tarpaulin hangin from a scrubby tree,

A smokeless fire boiled a billy on this cold and frosty morn…

When I entered this oasis, I saw a lifeless form.

From under a coloured cowhide appeared a face to greet this day,

A weather-beaten furrowed face I hoped had much to say,

And when he said g’day mate, and offered me his gnarly hand…

I knew I’d find my story in this library of a man.

Now, he’d been born in the outback way back in twenty three,

Out beyond the black stump…somewhere near the Widgeree,

He’d been raised by aboriginals, they taught him about the land,

How to survive the good times…and tolerate his fellow man.

As I sat beside his fire sipping on a billy tea,

He had a grin from ear to ear…as a story he told me,

About the time he found a nugget much bigger than a buffalo steak,

And of the time that he swapped it, for a night with ugly Kate.

The old bloke said he’d been a shearer, and done some hawkin to,

He thought he’d make a farmer but his farming days were few,

Then he joined the Foreign Legion and left the Widgeree behind…

But the blood and guts in an Arab land just blew away his mind.

So the Legion they discharged him, half the man he used to be,

They paid him out his earnings, ten thousand francs and three,

Now he spends his twilight years… culling old man kangaroo,

Somewhere in the Widgeree, on the banks of the old Barcoo.

Yes, the old bloke from the Widgeree had a story to tell,

The old bloke from the Widgeree he told that story well,

So well in fact, it doesn’t matter, if it’s all a pack of lies…

Because after I wrote it down, I won the Nobel Prize!

So, if you are ever in the Outback with a day or two to spare,

Make your way to the old Barcoo, you’ll find him campin there,

You will know you’ve found the right camp, because hangin from a tree…

You’ll find the Nobel Prize I won,  for… 

“The Old Bloke from the Widgeree.”

Darrell B. Parker

The Bush Poet of Kalangadoo