THE LONG PADDOCK

The stockmen know a run of sorts
they use when times are tough
a place where they go droving still
when rains don't come enough

They pack their swags and billys up
their dogs and horses tend
They move their flocks beside the road
its lonely path they wend

From Hay on up to Cobar
across the black soil plains
the only time they hope like hell
there isn't any rain

At night in camp they whisper
of sights and sounds so strange
They've seen the ghosts of Cobb & Co.
pass by across the range

They've heard the whips a cracking
as the ghostly stage rolls on
They've heard the phantom horses neigh
They're here at once, then gone

But then it's Bourke and Queensland
in search of pastures green
and then in time they turn their heads
back down the way they've been

And every night they break the march
to rest and set up camp
and every morning starts the same
with swags and blankets damp

Along the track they move the sheep
to keep them from the drought
and tales in camp on lonely nights
are often passed about

The drovers all will tell the tale
in tones so hushed and low
of how they've seen on darkest nights
the lights of Cobb & Co.

(c) July 2002 Written at Eden Valley, South Australia.

Sheep at Round Hill, Western Australia

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