I sat beside the red stock route
and chewed a blade of bitter grass
and saw in mirage on the plain
a bullock wagon pass.
Old Harry Pearce was with his team.
"The flies are bad," I said to him.
The leaders felt his whip, It did
me good to hear old Harry swear,
and in the heat of noon it seemed
his bullocks walked on air.
Suspended in the amber sky
they hauled the wool to Gundagai.
He walked in Time across the plain,
and old man walking on the air,
for years he wandered in my brain;
and now he lodges there.
And he may drive his cattle still
when Time with us had had his will.
David Campbell's Other Poems
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Comments about this poem (Harry Pearce by David Campbell )
- The whooper, Harold R Hunt Sr
- The flood., Harold R Hunt Sr
- I can't sleep at night., Harold R Hunt Sr
- Matter Has No Matter, Curtlan Popo
- The snow is pretty., Harold R Hunt Sr
- The bells do ring., Harold R Hunt Sr
- Apple Pie., Harold R Hunt Sr
- The horror show., Harold R Hunt Sr
- Spring, Harold R Hunt Sr
- Love for gramma, Harold R Hunt Sr
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