Last Request

There's no sign to mark his passing, not one hint of where he's been,

Of the roads once tramped and wandered, of the sorrows and joys seen

He tries to hide his every thought, each dream and every fear

Yet upon his sunlined weathered face, there rests a lonely tear.

His eyes are blue yet milky white, his hands trembling and weak

His skin is dust brown weathered, faded knife scar on his cheek,

The clothes he wears are threadbare, his boots hobnailed and holed

But he is an ancient battler, and as tough as he is old.

I peer over my mug of beer, I cannot help but watch him

For though the country bar is crowded, there is none to match him

His whiskers are long, his hands knobbly, his skin so brown and weathered

And the lines of age and sun and work across his face are feathered.

He stares into the drink he holds and it seems his only friend

I cannot help but think he will be drinking at the end

For this is not the only night I've seen him, nor even the first week

And yet he merely holds his beer, doesn't move or even speak.

But something moves within me now, a feeling I don't know

And I cannot walk away from him, though I would like to go

He doesn't seem to notice me, he mustn't know I'm here

As tears trickle down each of his cheeks to splash into his beer.

I feel a fool, tuck in my seat, prepare to go away

Yet the bushie raises halting hand, commanding me to stay,

"Hey lovey do you have a sec, you've got a lovely friendly face,

And I don't see so very many, in this 'ere cursed place."

"I've seen the best of times," says he "and I've seen the very worst,

A wandering life is not much fun, some fellows say it's cursed

But I've loved the land and walked my tracks, I don't regret a day

When the sleet lashed down in windstorms and washed my paths away

Or when the whirling duststorms ripped the shelter from my back

And the branches fell across the road and destroyed the old shack

That was along the road to Gundagai. I've been there and

Back I've travelled right across this land

I like to feel I know it like a part of my own hand.

"I don't have very long left here, I know my time has come

When I shall 'mount my gallant steed and ride into the sun.'

My bones are brittle, paper thin, my skin crackling and aging

My eyes are clouding over now and my sight is fading

My hearing is dull, I wear an aid, but soon that will not help me

For my body is just wearing out – and I will soon be free.

This should be a pleasant time for me, indeed it isn't sad

And yet I am somewhat nostalgic for the good times that I've had.

"How do I know, where I am going, that my country will be waiting?
My land of bushlands, rivers, streams, deserts and tracks awaiting?
Does Heaven age, even as Earth, will I only find more freeways?
And concrete pillars, stretching high, steel bridges and more tollways?

What does await me? I don't know. I only know that I am scared, love.

Will it be a golden land of dreams, of flames, below, above?

What will I do there, play a harp? I can't carry a tune

Or sing and dance a melody, or jump over the moon?

"If I could have only one wish, it would be to live my life again

The happiness and sadness, the joys and all the pain

For I have lived as any real man should, I've shouldered my load,

I've had the stars, I've had my dreams, I've had the dusty road.

I don't know what awaits me, I only know where I have been

The joys of living a free life, and the wonders that I've seen.

I've loved and lived, I've known life, I've slept and wandered free

And yet now I sit within a bar, leaving nothing here behind me.

"Look to the land, my lovely, don't let her sweet cries go unheeded

Travel to the last remaining bushland where love is sorely needed

Finish the work that I begun, protect the land – it's desperate

Help the land stand up to man before it is too late."
His eyes implore me desperately, his hands tremble in prayer

As I take them gently in my own and promise him I'll care

A smile steals across his face, for his message is imparted

Finally he comes to rest, his spirit is departed.

(An attempt at a ballad, but, I think, not a very good one.)