Vonda Stanley's collection of early Australian bush poems




From the George Bateman Collection, copiled by Howard Rose.


 The Moon


I used to think the moon was just sublime,

When back in Aussie with some swell "line",

We'd gaze in rapture at it's smiling face,

Just like a lantern, hanging out in space.

all round and pale,

And when I'd hold her close, she seemed to smile,

And do it's level best to 'elp me, 

When I pitched my tale.



That old moon, back there, we used to see,

Is it the same, what's shinin' 'ere on me?

Back home she used to do me good and proud,

She'd even sneak behind some passing cloud,

to 'ide it's light,

To tip me off that she was in the know,

When I was out with Gerty, Kate or Flo,

and things were looking alright.



But now the good she does for me, is nil,

She pops up from some flamin' hill,

And shows up all things we tries to 'ide.

It seems to me she's on the side

of Mr Fritz

She makes the night seem just as bright as day,

And beams down on the 'avoc and the fray,

of 'itlers Blitz.



But still I s'pose, when we get 'ome again,

That things will go on very much the same,

And that same moon, we're cursin' 'ere an' now,

For giving us away --- the flamin' cow,

will be a boom.

For what's the use of  going out with Gert or Kate or Flo,

Or any other skirt,

Without a moon.


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