In The Future – by Prospect Good
Oh what will the bush bards sing in time
When the digging days are done?
When the roaring times have been sung in rhymes
The yarns of the past all spun?
When there’s no new field to rush and work
And never a campfire gleams
When the stampers roar can be heard no more
Oh then they’ll be short of themes
Of what will the bards of the future sing
When the last slip rails have gone?
Will bush lovers wait at an iron gate
To kiss in the moonlight wan?
What when the boundary riders’ line
Is a ‘thin, tin, crackling fence’
And minus a nag will he strike a snag
And puncture his Dunlop tense?
When the drover droves his mob by train
And ‘across the black soil plains’
The carriers team is a thing of steam
And engine instead of wains
When the last wattle bloom is of yore
The gums are all ring-barked too
Oh spirit of Boake, when the bush fires smoke
What will all the poets do?
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Moya Sharp
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