Clyde loves his farm

And he loved his wife Ellie.

He works long hours,

His farm more than viable.

He is comfortable now.

The years of battling

Learning the land

Understanding the elements,

Has paid off.

He strides across the home paddock,

Opens the old wooden gate and allows

Anxious cattle to move

To a new feed lot.

He sits on a log near the fence.

Rolls himself a smoke, taking in the morning air.

His blue cattle dog,

Is now dozing at his feet.

He grins, nudges her with his foot

She responds by pricking her ears

Opening one eye then slowly closing back to slumber.

Clyde has a reputation around the district

He is a no nonsense spades are spades man.

He works hard and he plays hard

He was feared on the football field.

Now he is older, a little more mellow

No longer does he fly off the handle

When an obstacle confronts him

His Ellie had much to do with that

A gentle and loving soul

She was his perfect match.

Today he has a job in the south paddock.

He mounts his bay quarter horse,

Whistles to the dog

Trots off to the south.

It is just on dawn, the sun has poked its head

Over the eastern hill,

Long spidery fingers of heat

Sneak their way down into the valley.

He enjoys this time of day, peaceful, tranquil,

Time stands still for him, no rush

The day’s chores can wait,

He rides along the well-worn track.

He listens as the kookaburras

Laugh their greeting to the new day

Watches the magpies as they strut

Amongst trees and broken branches.

He admires the patch of wild bush flowers

The pink Dancing Queens and bush daisies

Always in bloom at this time of year.

Stops, walks amongst the riot of colour,

Gathering a rough posy,

He selects only the strongest blooms

A bent piece of fencing wire secures them.

A little way further he stops beside a small fenced grave.

He falls to his knees and pulls the weeds away

Cursing under his breath his own neglect.

He clears the debris and set his flowers

Spreading them across the grave,

Satisfied he has them as he wants

He sits back, it is his time to reflect,

To remember the young Ellie he brought

Home to the farm house that wasn’t much

No floor and no water save for the

Creek, a hundred yards away.

As is his want Clyde sits quietly,

The dog moves in and sits beside him,

Nuzzles Clyde’s face as the man succumbs

To a grief that never fades.

* This is another of my 40 years ago poems that I have re-worked.