The Old Dog
At a point where the old road meets the hill
and runs down the other side
There's an old tin shed that's standing, still
and a grave where the old dog died
He surely had seen better days
when our paths chanced to cross
As I lit up a fire and laid out my swag
he got up and wandered across
I could see from the look in the old dog's eye
that his race was almost run
but he sat by my side and offered his paw
So I gave him a pat and a bun
I cooked up some meat and he chewed on a bone
then he rested his head on my swag
We sat and we watched as the stars all came out
and his tail did a slow steady wag
We fell fast asleep and I woke with the sun
to find the old dog passed away
So I gathered him up and I buried him deep
and sadly I went on my way
It was later that morning I stopped at a farm
to ask about work round about
and I happened to see a new litter of pups
one turned and came waddling out
He sat on the ground and he offered his paw
and I saw a strange glint in his eye
Had the old dog returned? Was he telling me now
that I shouldn't be sad that he'd died?
Well I picked him right up and his warm puppy tongue
quickly licked off the tear from my cheek
I couldn't think straight, I was stunned and choked up
and found my knees going all weak
So I bought him right there and I gathered him up
He settled right down in my swag
As I walked down the road I could feel the odd thump
as his tail did a slow steady wag.
From my PDF book "Bush Ballads and Bulldust"
Copyright © Marc Glasby | Year Posted 2018
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