He rode the dusty plains so wide,
Where cattle lowed and rivers ran,
With pen in hand, his verse his guide,
The outback’s ever-loyal man.
He sang of stockmen, bush and brum,
Of horse and hat and winding track,
Of drovers’ nights, of beating drum,
Of shearing sheds and midnight black.
Bold Waltzing Matilda first he wrote,
A swagman’s song, forever known,
By billabong, his ghostly boat,
In lilt and rhyme the tale was sown.
The horses raced, the riders flew,
In “The Man from Snowy River” wild,
Through mountain mist and morning dew,
The daring deeds of bush-born child.
Yet in the city, he did dwell,
And edited papers, stories spun,
But in his heart, the bush would swell,
A land of sun and setting sun.
He penned of war, of love, of lore,
Of country tough, yet grand and free,
And Australians sang from shore to shore,
The ballads of the man they’d see.
So raise your glass to Banjo’s name,
Whose verse can still the hearts inspire,
The outback echoes with his fame,
And kindles yet a poet’s fire.