by Bob retired
When there is more past than future, memories are more important
On tall spires of lava the tired clouds are lying,
In the gullies and gorges soft winds are sighing,
Rippling the dry grass, rustling leaves on the trees,
Softly and surely comes the warming spring breeze.
Scents from the desert turn thoughts in my head
To those far away places where I once used to tread.
The 'Outback' is calling to the wildness inside,
To the man that I was on some wild horseback rides.
But this old frame has aged, and these thin bony hands
Barely think of adventures in those harsh, open lands,
Of mustering wild cattle, and droving dumb sheep,
Of camps in the desert where it's too hot to sleep.
Of brown muddy water, cloudless blue skies,
And sharing my food with hundreds of flies,
Of the lies we exchanged by the campfire at night,
And the times that I lost when I tried to fight.
In the pale shadow of my own twilight years
I regret the time wasted on unfounded fears.
I look forward to mornings, the coming new day,
and good friends who greet me, when I pass their way.