Where the Brave Men Camped
Out on a lonely track
Somewhere in the East McDonalds
My boots
Lift the red dust slowly
To form a little cloud
That as the day passes
Will fall and settle
Again, upon the Dry red ground
As the day’s heat rises
With me into the hills
I am none the wiser
Where their camps may be
I find their holes
And the old ghost town
But their camps elude me
As the sun rises higher
So does the cursing
Of the flies that coat my face
And their torturous
Desert face crawling’s
Between great ancient rocks
And down dry creek beds
Where Garnets and zircons glitter
For the life of me
I cannot find
Their old litters
If only
I could talk to that mob of camels
Or the Dingo's that serenade
Borrow the eyes of the Wedgetail
They’ll show me
Where they laid
Or has time
Washed their traces
From this scene
Or bushfire
Scorched any sign away
Heat an cold
Weathered them to dust
Like the bones
Of an old miner’s hut
How brave
These Italian miners
To seek
Their fortunes here
In the McDonald ranges
Far
From their land and sea’s
I turn toward my camp
Time to prepare
For a cold
Desert night
Will resume my search
In the Morrow
For where
The brave men
Camped
Copyright © Dominic Middleton | Year Posted 2020
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