The Bard

I've heard of all your bards you know,
Wilde, Kipling and the like.
But their worth is not a candle glow,
When compared to Australia's great.

'The Banjo' was his pen name,
And he'd knocked around a bit.
He'd played the Army's little game,
And had a pen of wit.

We heard from him of Clancy,
With tales of droving days.
We heard of some quite chancy,
They and their little frays.

We laughed at young M'Ginnis,
And cried for Mongrel Grey.
Of course the Favourite Beat Us,
And the Old Australian Ways.

Through his eyes he saw a lifetime,
His pen passed on the view.
The 'long paddock' seen at nighttime,
And the Reverend Mullineux.

My poem is but a poor one,
Not worth Australia's own.
A simple little play on,
The titles of his poems.

Perchance one day I'll meet him,
When it's deemed I meet his fate.
In paradise I'll find him,
Knocking pints back with his mates.