The Demise of a Good Keen Man
The Demise of a Good Keen Man
The Good Keen Man was a hunter in Government employ
He lived back in the Bushland where none could annoy
He had no use for compasses or modern stuff like that.
He needed only the sun that shone upon his back
Caring not what day it was, for it mattered less
Than if the sun was shining or if the bush was wet.
You might think that he, was not so very bright
But compare your life with his, and see him in the light
That his Back Country hut asked no rent or fee
And he owned all the land that his eye could see
There were fish in the river and meat on the hill
Working not to a time clock, he came and went at will
He carried a pack upon his back and never asked for more
Than an audience of one or more, and a beer as he entered the door
He had an endless stock of stories, both true and make believe
For by his own admission, truth he could take or leave
But the world is that much poorer for the loss of such as he
For characters are fewer in this world where nothings free
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