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