THE HORSES STAY BEHIND
In days to come we’ll wander west and cross the range again;
We’ll hear the bush birds singing in the green trees after rain;
We’ll canter through the Mitchell grass and breast the bracing wind:
But we’ll have other horses. Our chargers stay behind.
Around the fire at night we’ll yarn about old Sinai;
We’ll fight our battles o’er again; and as the days go by
There’ll be old mates to greet us. The bush girls will be kind
Still our thoughts will often wander to the horses left behind.
I don’t think I could stand the thought of my old fancy hack
Just crawling round old Cairo with a ’Gyppo on his back.
Perhaps some English tourist out in Palestine may find
My broken-hearted waler with a wooden plough behind.
No; I think I’d better shoot him and tell a little lie:—
“He floundered in a wombat hole and then lay down to die.”
May be I’ll get court-martialled; but I’m damned if I’m inclined
To go back to Australia and leave my horse behind.
Trooper Bluegum.
EVENING AMONGST THE JUDEAN HILLS
A CAMP IN THE DESERT
Photos, in colour by Capt. Frank Hurley