The Bundaleer Throne
We live out at Bundaleer in
A cabin, in the bush,
Where the air is so much cleaner,
And there's little need to rush,
We have pigs and sheep and chickens,
And we pick our vegies fresh,
So it caused a stir of interest
When we heard of Uncle's death!
Now the 'Uncle' was my mother's
So he wasn't close to us,
And in fact we'd never met him,
Just heard tales of 'Uncle Gus',
He'd been in the 4th Light Horse
At Beersheba, so they said,
In that last great charge of cavalry
That stained the desert red.
'He became a touch eccentric
After that, ' my mother sighed,
'And for years we never heard of him,
We thought he might have died.
But it seems that he'd been wandering
In Egypt and elsewhere,
And collecting all those knick-knacks
In his cottage at Gulnare.'
The morning that they read his will
It came as a surprise,
For we'd never even known him,
Nor my mother, bless her eyes,
But he'd left to us a token to
Collect down at Gulnare,
From his cottage, it was massive,
Was this old Egyptian chair!
It was made of cane and cedar,
And some stuff that was antique,
There were carvings, funny pictures
Carved on plates of ivory,
It was most dilapidated like
He'd kept it in the barn,
So we used the truck of Barry's,
And we brought it to the farm.
Then we washed it and we scrubbed it
And it came up rather nice,
But when friends came round to gawk
I simply said - 'Oh, that's the wife's! '
They'd grin and wink as if to say
[...] Read more
poem by David Lewis Paget
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!