Black Tracker
Smell of fresh horse dung on the breeze,
Not far away, just north of here,
Keep walking on the rocky ground ,
No panic, yet no fear,
Palm island Prison, I escaped,
Swam ashore, I nearly died,
Saw the fins of noahs arks, (sharks)
Dog paddling, still so tired,
Black tracker follows me,
I see him in my mind,
Jacky sticks like glue, does he,
My tracks are pretty hard to find,
The Traps they come, at walking pace,
Tracker picks the way,
Up or down the river ,
Might cost em half a day,
Eat a few mussel clams,
found under the waters edge,
just a creeping through the water,
doubled back under a ledge,
Traps they hurry away to the west ,
follow them, I might find,
And now I’m tracking Jacky ,
I think the buggers blind,
So the Traps get tired of looking,
My track just can’t be found,
So they return to the coast,
say they think I’m drowned,
So I walked inland four hundred miles,
Went home to live in the bush,
Lived off the land, Goanna and Sheep,
In the land of the wait awhile.
lovely Crayfish that I keep,
In my home land I do sleep,
me Boomerang goes woosh,
no need for me to bloody rush,
wild duck will have me fed.
Don Johnson
Dedicated to Bill Hopkins who did just that....know as hoppy...
Copyright © Don Johnson | Year Posted 2012
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