But What’s The Use

But what’s the use of writing ‘bush’ Though editors demand it For city folk, and farming folk, Can never understand it. They’re blind to what the bushman sees The best with eyes shut tightest, Out where the sun is hottest and The stars are most and brightest. The crows at sunrise flopping round Where some poor life has run down; The pair of emus trotting from The lonely tank at sundown, Their snaky heads well up, and eyes Well out for man’s manoeuvres, And feathers bobbing round behind Like fringes round improvers. The swagman tramping ’cross the plain; Good Lord, there’s nothing sadder, Except the dog that slopes behind His master like a shadder; The turkey-tail to scare the flies, The water-bag and billy; The nose-bag getting cruel light, The traveller getting silly. The plain that seems to Jackaroos Like gently sloping rises, The shrubs and tufts that’s miles away But magnified in sizes; The track that seems arisen up Or else seems gently slopin’, And just a hint of kangaroos Way out across the open. The joy and hope the swagman feels Returning, after shearing, Or after six months’ tramp Out Back, He strikes the final clearing. His weary spirit breathes again, His aching legs seem limber When to the East across the plain He spots the Darling Timber! But what’s the use of writing ‘bush’ Though editors demand it For city folk and cockatoos, They do not understand it. They’re blind to what the whaler sees The best with eyes shut tightest, Out where Australia’s widest, and The stars are most and brightest.