Carry me back to the bush when I die.
Its there that I always could rest.
Bury me deep in the deserts red earth
On a dry riverbank in the west.
Take me back home to the stock camp
Out on the endless red plain
Let my soul know the peace and the quiet
Of my home in the bush once again.
Don’t pray as you lower me under
Just say a few words from a bard
With Banjos sweet words to see me away
The journey won’t then be so hard.
And though I’ll not hear the call
Or feel the wind gust in the trees
My spirit will soar out over the plain
And there I will always will be.
Author Unknown
Moya Sharp
Latest posts by Moya Sharp (see all)
- The Railway Arrives in Boulder – a quiet affair - 16/11/2024
- Beware of Victorians Bearing Gifts – - 16/11/2024
- A Wedding at Maybe – - 16/11/2024
Leave a Reply