Every Man should have a rifle (Henry Lawson)

So I sit and write and ponder, while the house is deaf and dumb, Seeing visions “over yonder” of the war I know must come.

In the corner – not a vision – but a sign for coming days Stand a box of ammunition and a rifle in green baize.

And in this, the living present, let the word go through the land, Every tradesman, clerk and peasant should have these two things at hand.

No – no ranting song is needed, and no meeting, flag or fuss - In the future, still unheeded, shall the spirit come to us!

Without feathers, drum or riot on the day that is to be, We shall march down, very quiet, to our stations by the sea.

While the bitter parties stifle every voice that warns of war, Every man should own a rifle and have cartridges in store!

~ by Henry Lawson, 1907 ~

A Social Media Fast

Good Morning

Today I have started a Social Media Fast

There is no emergency, no health crisis, just a feeling that I need to withdraw from the social media space for a time and reconnect with the things I really love.

I

The Call Of The Bush

Three roads there are that climb and wind
Amongst the hills, and leave behind
The patterned orchards, sloping down
To meet a little country town.

And of these roads I'll take the one
That tops the ridges, where the sun
Is tempered by the mountain-breeze
And dancing shadows of the trees.

The road is rough - but to my feet
Softer than is the city street;
And then the trees! - how beautiful
She-oak and gum - how fresh and cool!

No walls there are to hamper me;
Only in blue infinity
The distant mountain-ramparts rise
Beneath the broad arch of the skies.

And in that high place I shall hear
The wild birds' singing, soft and clear;
And horse-bells tinkling as of old
In amongst the wattles' gold

Far-off is the ocean tide;
But there across the country-side
Roll waves of bush that rise and fall
To break against the mountain-wall.

And every little farm is seen
An island in a sea of green;
And every little farm at night
Flings through the dark its beacon-light -

There in the silence of the hills,
I shall find peace that soothes and stills
The throbbing of the weary brain, -
For I am going home again.

Dora Wilcox