Close 'round the crackling fire we three,
with sweet acacia in the air -
tell stories of Gallipoli
and digger's bond of friendship there.
We laughed and shared like family
with roof and walls of stars our home -
tracker Wiley, Henry and me
on highland edge of bushland dome.
But now across the outback trail
away from Henry's place of rest,
near to where he fell and failed
with bloody head against my chest.
We slowly lead his faithful mount
through clear streams where spirits flow
and tales the bushman mates recount,
the final sail of mateship souls.
Copyright © craig cornish | Year Posted 2019