by Rex Ingamells (1913-1955)
Glint of gumtrees in the dawn,
so million coloured: bush wind-borne
magpie-music, rising, falling;
and voices of the stockmen calling.
Bellowing of cattle: stamping,
impatient of the place of camping:
bark of dogs, and the crack-crack-crack
of stockwhips as we take the track.
Neighing of night-rested mounts
This is a day that really counts:
a day to ride with a hundred head,
and a roll of canvas that's my bed.
About the Author
See our page on Rex Ingamells. Includes a linked list of all his writing available on our website.
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