With the fires of hope still burning
I’ll take to the open road,
To the bush I am returning
And it’s there I’ll take my load.
For the pull of the bush like a magnet
Is drawing me to her heart
And I’ll make my mark on this rugged land
One day e’er I depart.
I can smell the gum leaves burning
I can see my brothers three
As they squat round the gully fire
To wait for their billy tea.
The emu and the kangaroo
Abound where I’ll be going
Tho’ the company’s scarce, and the water too
Where naught but the thoughts are flowing.
There’s memories of the Wannaway
Nigh forty long years old
Where the dad and all my brothers
Discovered their lode of gold.
We’d spend the long nights yarning
While the camp fires burned down low
Then all prepare for another day
Which for us came all too slow.
Still perhaps there’s something left for me
In this land that gave me birth
For hope dies hard in the breast of a man
At home with the good red earth.
by Alma A Frank
Moya Sharp
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