Australian Bush Poet and Balladeer
The particular style of music I enjoy playing is The Australian Bush Ballad pick and strum style championed by Slim Dusty and Stan Coster. The ballad style of lyrics shares the culture and the characters of my country. I am a member of the Australian Bush Balladeers. http://bushballadeers.com.au/bushpoet.htm
I am also a bush Poet and a member of The Australian Bush Poets Association who define bush poetry as rhyming verse with regular metre and true rhyme about Australia, its people, places, things and way of life.
http://www.abpa.org.au/
Story behind the song
My sequel to Banjo Paterson's poem Lost.
Lyrics
AN OLD MANa€™S VOWS
He stood by the pepper tree down by the stream
and his eyes were cast down at the mound,
the hurt in his heart, which hea€™d carried for years,
now displaced by the peace he had found.
The promise he'd made to himself years ago
he'd fulfilled as he'd promised he would
and the daughter and grandson he'd lost years ago
lay together as he'd deemed they should.
Hea€™d known that the filly was vicious, strong willed,
but the lad was so wilful and game.
Hea€™d only gone down to the two mile that day,
still he failed to return all the same.
His mother searched tirelessly all through the night
and for days rode the ranges in hope.
But sadly she pined and she faded and cried,
till her small frame could no longer cope.
He lay her to rest a€˜neath the pepper treesa€™ shade
and he vowed to his God and to her,
hea€™d search for the bonnie, young, winsome lada€™s bones
till the ranges declared where they were.
He too was determined to track down the mare,
that now ran with the ranks of the free,
but pledged in his heart he would have recompense
for the bones a€˜neath the ironbark tree.
Year in and year out the old man rode the range
and he searched every gully and ridge.
Astride his old grey with his packhorse in tow,
he forged on with his bold pilgrimage.
At times he would sight the wild mob and the mare,
but they sensed the mana€™s presence and fled.
Though filled with a will to win out in his quest,
the old man set his course straight ahead.
One morning he focused his sight on a range
where a column of smoke caught his eye.
The scrub was alight and engulfing the trees
and the wild winds forced flames ta€™wards the sky.
The old man sought shelter away from its wrath
in the bowels of a cave and gave prayer.
Though thick choking smoke and the blistering heat
had him gasping and choking for air.
The danger now gone he walked out from the cave
and the vision he met at its mouth
was one of stark contrast, the landscape lay bare,
and the fire front raced further south.
The old man now ragged and wilting in strength
knew the fire had dealt him a blow,
but urged his grey down the steep slope of the ridge
where the ironbarks grew down below.
His pathway lay blocked by a large fallen limb
and beneath it there laid a charred frame,
not human in structure, but that of a horse,
though it caused him to stop all the same.
The singed hide was chestnut and that of a mare.
Yes, the quarry hea€™d sought for so long.
Then anger gave way and tears welled in his eyes
and a magpie burst forth into song.
For lying beside her obscured by her frame,
lay the bones of his daughtera€™s lost son.
The old iron bark recompensed him that day,
but the old man sensed no one had won.
He laid the boya€™s bones in the packsaddle bags
and the horse showed approval and neighed.
And a calm inner peace now pervaded the man;
hea€™d fulfilled both the vows he had made.
©Bush Poet and Balladeer
Merv Webster
