He sat upon a greying log
Old swag by his side
Staring at the ashy flames
Nursing trampled pride.

Mankind's pride and dignity
Were treasures he could ill afford
With dirty pack upon his back
And face and manner untoward.

Turned away from every town
Knocking at each earless door
Earning keep on luckless farms
Sleeping on unvarnished floor.

So wearied by cold welcome
And shadowed by his past
He left the civil pathways
To scorch in bushlands vast.

Burning sun flashed overhead
Dust stuck to dried lips
Flies and insects swarmed around
It was hard to come to grips.

But one hot day he came across
A river gully, a rocky cleft
Invisible till he reached its edge
A water well for society's dross.

He filled his billy and sat to wait
Under a tangled tree's shade
Boiled water first, to slake his thirst
Else death would be bushman's fate.

He rested there till evening came
And proud sun dipped her head
The river ribbon turned to gold
The sky to bronze and ruby red.

As molten colours dimmed and died
Before approaching night
The man gazed up towards the dark
And glittering gems filled his sight.

The leaping swordsman upside-down
The true cross heading south
The clouded emu standing dark
Upon bright milky crown.

Morning brought the singing sound
Of butcherbirds and bold magpies
Winding through the ancient gums
As from slumber he did rise.

Filling up with water now
And hoisting up his pack
The bushman followed the valley south
Treading his lonely track.

The gully walls grew higher still
The trees decreased in height
With russet rock on either side
Banded yellow, red and white.

He gazed up at the striped ramparts
Stacked by forces of great might
Picked a pink stone from the ground
And left his mark where fell the light.

Noontide found him in a cave
Eating damper from a pan
Rock wallabies sat there unafraid
For they had never seen a man.

As the river widened out
The valley walls sunk down
The trees came back, the land was flat
And he found another town.

He walked the central smooth dirt path
With all its people passing by
There to find some work again
In a place where no-one met his eye.

But though their heavy feet walked on
And shied away on every side
Though still few words they spared for him
They could not trample his pride!

For they had not seen the river gold
Nor seen bright stars take wing
They may have heard sweet sound of bird
But never where the waters sing.

They had not sewn their sign into
The striped vest of the land
And the wallabies few around their town
They fled from every hand.

When next the bushman sat alone
His swag by fire's side
He smiled soft at dancing flames
That treasure was his pride.