The Prince Of The Road. Poem by R. K. Hart

In some countries he is called a hobo with trousers baggy.
In my country he is a swaggie.
His hair is unkempt, trouser belt a tie.
His hat would make the self respecting person cry.

His ragged beard plunging the depth of his chest,
Under it a worn and stained suits vest.
He wakes in the morn to the Kookaburra laugh,
He makes Billy tea and watches paddle steam craft.

They say he came from outback town to the west,
Some say he was an English duke complete with crest.
If so, he had thrown away a life ease and pleasure,
He had now only one great treasure.

As the Maggie sang he takes a small bundle from his swag,
It is carefully wrapped in oilskin and a velvet rag.
Once unwrapped it is now plain to be seen,
Small book and crests of two houses, a duke and queen.

Once the damper was cooking, after the kneading,
He can be found every morn his scriptures reading.
He had learned many years gone by,
The swaggie's appearance did not make his gracious Lord sigh.

His treasure spoke of the Saviour with kind and gentle spirit,
Who turned his back on temptation, took man's sin and bore it.
Morning saw a swaggie became prince of the road sitting with a King,
Finding the crested book each morn, enriching and warming.

The recipient of Gods blessing is superior to those that receive only the worlds blessing.

R. K. Hart 22/09/2012