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Before Ballimore
I made it out
To Castlereagh
By peddling
Along the verge
Banjo said
'tis the land of lots o time'
That will do me
Just fine
I seen lots of sheep
Wasn't sure if they were Conroy's
So enquired
Of Old mate
Standing
By his gate
108
In the shade he was
This old man
And a paddock
Full of sheep
'Conroys gone
Same with his son
And the mail man
He don't ride no more
You'll see no drovers camp fires
And as for big lagoons
With flocks of birds
Only in your sleep
Teamsters toiling
No
Roadtrains belching
Out here
On Castlereagh
I made my fortune
And lost it too
Just like that
Big blue sapphire
I found digging that
Fence line
If the season was good
I wouldn't had holes
In my pockets
For it to fall through
He didn't lement his loss
You get use to it
Out here
On Castlereagh
I make money from mud
But not from dust
That's how you do it
On this land
But you do it for the love of it ?
He looked at me
With his weathered face
And jaundice coloured eyes
No
No
Once I did
But not now
I love me dogs
I do it for them
I breathe this mountain air
And when I can't
I will be dead
Along with Banjo
Conroy and his son
With a whistle
The dogs were gone
Be seeing you he said
Back on the verge
I left Old mate
By the gate
Time to find
Ballimore
Copyright ©
Dominic Middleton
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