Whilst visiting the remains of the childhood home of well known Australian poet, Henry Lawson, I was inspired to write the following verses, having researched a little about his family and life there.
There’s little left now, Lawson, mate, of your home by the hill
except, a guarding sentinel, the chimney stands there still.
To some it’s just another site for tourists passing through,
perhaps they’ve never read your works – how sad, but maybe true.
Eurunderee and childhood days, please tell me if I’m wrong,
instilled in you mixed memories and feelings, oh so strong.
Yes, monumental moments mate; the hardship and the joy.
They brought to mind old childhood days when I was just a boy.
Is that your Dad with shouldered axe and wand’ring off somewhere?
His cross-cut saw with him as well. I’m sure it’s him, I swear.
The dark haired lady on the log and scribbling on a pad;
your Mum I guess at work on verse; she taught you well my lad.
Old grandpa Albury’s visiting and dons his greasy hat.
I know it’s him, no other soul could ever shout like that.
The muck on Brother Charlie’s face. It’s not Jim Nowlett’s brew?
He surely can’t believe that tale, ’cause none of it is true.
I see young brother Peter mate is tending cows again.
You mentioned how they liked to stray. You’re right, they are a pain.
Is that a horseman riding up and pack horse by his side?
It can’t be old Dave Regan. No! They told me he had died.
If Billy Grimshaw’s teams passed now, his bales of wool so high,
he couldn’t swear from being bogged; the bitumen runs by.
The gold has long but disappeared, though grape vines grow here still;
red wine is known around the world; I know, I’ve had my fill.
I can’t stay any longer mate I’ve got a way to go;
to join up with my poet friends, up Queensland way you know.
I’m glad though that I stopped a while to reminisce with you;
like Banjo mate, deep down within, I saw you as true blue.
From the book A Muster of Verse and Yarns.