Bullocky

Beside his heavy-shouldered team thirsty with drought and chilled with rain, he weathered all the striding years till they ran widdershins in his brain: Till the long solitary tracks etched deeper with each lurching load were populous before his eyes, and fiends and angels used this road. All the long straining journey grew a mad apocalyptic dream, and he old Moses, and the slaves his suffering and stubborn team. Then in his evening camp beneath the half-light pillars of the trees he filled the steepled cone of night with shouted prayers and prophecies. While past the campfire's crimson ring the star struck darkness cupped him round. and centuries of cattle-bells rang with their sweet uneasy sound. Grass is across the wagon-tracks, and plough strikes bone across the grass, and vineyards cover all the slopes where the dead teams were used to pass. O vine, grows close upon that bone and hold it with your rooted hand. The prophet Moses feeds the grape, and fruitful is the Promised Land.