A Son of Erin

Written by: Fred Hundy

Oh Mick McGrath, man of daring do
What will the family make of you?
A forgotten ghost from the past,
Standing trapped in a die well cast.

Oh Mick McGrath, will they hear your name?

Born to peasants in a land of famine
You sailed the terrible seas from Erin.
A southern land of promise found
Only to find the bias still bound.

Oh Mick McGrath, can you feel the shame?

Starving on a selection too small
Relying on native wherewithal.
Mick, you ranged the mountains at will
Seeking the mark, the chase and thrill.

Oh Mick McGrath, were you in the game?

 The traps thundered to Campbells Creek
Seeking the McGraths and others weak.
And so you came before the law
An old hand had up the mantel you bore.

Oh Mick McGrath, were you to blame?

Your fate sealed they squealed long and loud,
This Tipperary man remained unbowed.
You argued your case with alacrity,
Though all was forfeit to her Majesty.

Oh Mick McGrath, no gaol cell could tame!

Suspicious eyes peer down the years
Hands loose clasped your fiery gaze sears.
Ten years on the roads - justice done,
To Berrima a stranger to the sun.

Oh Mick McGrath, Ma still burns the flame!

Ten years off what should’ve been
Because of the things  you had seen.
Droving  in the families’ employ,
A broken and unwanted toy.

Oh Mick McGrath, so you went insane!

With no monument lost in the past
From new pages your place held fast.
A grainy picture in shadowy relief,
A man who kept his family’s belief.

Oh Mick McGrath, now they know your name!