BANJO'S BILLABONG
Dudley C. Pye AM JP
The throaty croak of the bush frog,
The mournful night bird song,
Pierce nocturnal nothingness,
Down by Banjo's billabong
The Dingo scouts the evening,
He'll eat before too long,
Prey will come to slake their thirst,
From Banjo's billabong!
Water lilies close their eyes,
The black snake glides along,
Then silently is half submerged,
In Banjo's billabong!
But! What about the Swaggie?
And the Jumbuck of the song,
Can their ghosts be often seen?
By Banjo's billabong?
Are there visions of the Squatter?
And the “Traps” that went along,
To nab the suspect Swaggie,
Camped by Banjo's billabong.
Are you sure the jolly jumbuck,
The one mentioned in the song,
Was it really all that happy
Tied by Banjo's billabong?
His cup of tea disrupted,
By the squatter and his throng,
The swaggie and the jumbuck plunge,
Into Banjo's billabong!
Listen to the bushman's tales,
Some short and some quite long,
How the swaggie and his mate emerge,
From Banjo's billabong!
Can you see his ghost return?
If you hang around for long,
Would it help to boil a Billy
Down by Banjos billabong?
I would like to meet the swaggie,
The hero of our song,
And share a swig of Billy tea,
Down by Banjo's billabong.
© Dudley C. Pye AM. JP.
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