A Bit of Bush Poetry

OLD JACK McCROW

Old Jack McCrow never did say ‘Never say Die’,
But he felt like it on that fateful summer’s day,
On the edge of Wombat Ridge,
A deathly place of misfortune, isolation and fear.

For old Jack had come to share his sorrows
with the animals of the land,
With the towering Eucalypts and stubby Bottlebrush
with Corella’s and Galah’s,
And not forgettin’ the Bull Ants that bite
the hungry Termite and Wasp alike.

McCrow’s missus had scorned him so
For lickin’ too much ale,
His mates had said ‘She’d be right’
and so Jack drank hard into the night,
But upon his return home, staggered did he
acting stupid and sweet,
A blackened frypan he did meet.

Fanny McCrow was a burly woman
arms of muscle and meat,
One swing and a ‘thump’ was all it took,
And old Jack no longer stood on his feet,
‘Away from ‘ere ya cad’ she cried,
And old Jack staggered away, his head aside.

Over the edge of the ridge he peered,
And even though he was a feared,
Of death and God and Devil too,
They would be fair mates in a blew,
So old Jack he jumped, his thoughts askew.

The pain weren’t so bad, he thought
As he looked hard around to see….But
no pub he saw, not even a good sort,
But then he thought ‘This ain’t so bad’,
Fanny’s gone and frying pan too,
But the bloody Devil made sure there weren’t no loo!.