The Bushman

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Over the dusty red plains, 
Riding his chestnut horse,
Is a man with skin of leather,
Great mind of mental force.

Pride that of a rich man,
Glazing upon his riches,
A mother of a soldier boy,
Lying await in dusty ditches.

Kindness that of a gentleman,
Courting a lovely young lass,
Strength that of a small bull,
Grazing on fresh green grass.

He has utmost determination,
To complete any task at hand,
The Bushman works vigorously,
Across this sunburned land.

On a crisp, clear crystal night,
Round a campfire he be found,
Telling stories of his great life,
Becoming legends to go around. 





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