He was lean as the old dog that walked by his side and tough as the tie strap he wore His face was a legend of living it hard and his years numbered more than three score His old eyes had seen more than we’ll ever know of the far reaches of the inland He was part of this country it surely did show like the scars on his work hardened hands
From the high crowned old felt hat that sat on his head to the scuffed and worn heels of his boots With his sweat caked spring leggings and old faded jeans he was outback down to the grass roots And his old checkered shirt with the collar all frayed and the yard dust and flies on his back As he took out the makings before he sat down I knew this was a man you could back
He talked long and low of the country he’d seen and the changes that came with the years Of the ne’er ending battle of living out here the hardships the heartbreak and tears The big droughts that took over and crippled the land and the duststorms with no sign of rain Creeks and the dams long empty and dry and you wondered would they ‘er fill again.
He drew maps in the dust of the country he’d known where water was sure to be found Pinpointed landmarks should someone go wrong the type of terrain all around Where the wild horses watered by light of the moon and the gorges where old pikers feed Their pads not as deep as they were years ago for they’re part of a vanishing breed.
We got up and shook hands and he said so long, mate with his hat knocked the dust off his jeans Stamped on the butt ground it into the dust old habits die hard so it seems His old frame seemed much straighter as he walked away there was nought I could him he’d need He was part of our history that shaped this old land yes part of a vanishing breed He was part of our history that shaped this old land part of a vanishing breed.