That girl from the sun is bathing in the creek,
Says the white old dosser in the cave.
It’s a sight worth seeing though your old frame’s weak;
Her clothes are on the wattle and it’s gold all over,
And if I was twenty I’d try to be her lover,
Says the white old dosser in the cave.
If I was twenty I’d chase her back to Bourke,
Says the white old dosser in the cave.
My swag on my shoulder and a haughty eye for work,
I’d chase her to the sunset where the desert burns and reels,
With an old blue dog full of fleas at my heels,
Says the white old dosser in the cave.
I’d chase her back to Bourke again, I’d chase her back to Alice,
Says the white old dosser in the cave.
And I’d drop upon her sleeping like a beauty in a palace
With the sunset wrapped around her and a black snake keeping watch –
She’s lovely and she’s naked but she’s very hard to catch,
Says the white old dosser in the cave.
I’ve been cooling here for years with the gum-trees wet and weird,
Says the white old dosser in the cave.
My head grew lichens and moss was my beard,
The creek was in my brain and a bullfrog in my belly,
The she-oaks washed their hair in me all down the gloomy gully,
Says the white old dosser in the cave.
My eyes were full of water and my ears were stopped with bubbles,
Says the white old dosser in the cave.
Yabbies raised their claws in me or skulked behind the pebbles. –
The water-beetle loved his wife, he chased her round and round –
I thought I’d never see a girl unless I found one drowned,
Says the white old dosser in the cave.
Many a time I laughed aloud to stop my heart from thumping,
Says the white old dosser in the cave.
I saw my laugh I saw my laugh I saw my laugh go jumping
Like a jaunty old goanna with his tail up stiff
Till he dived like a stone in the pool below the cliff,
Says the white old dosser in the cave.
There’s a fine bed of bracken, the billy boils beside her,
Says the white old dosser in the cave.
But no one ever ate with me except the loathsome spider;
And no one ever lay with me beside the sandstone wall
Except the pallid moonlight and she’s no good at all,
Says the white old dosser in the cave.
But now she’s in the creek again, that woman made of flame,
Says the white old dosser in the cave.
By cripes, if I was twenty I’d stop her little game.
Her dress is on the wattle – I’d take it off and hide it;
And when she sought that golden dress, I’d lay her down beside it,
Says the white old dosser in the cave.
(Douglas Alexander Stewart)
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Based on Topics: Love Poems, Time Poems, Sense & Perception Poems, Beauty Poems, Water Poems, Work & Career PoemsBased on Keywords: sandstone, jaunty, bourke, bullfrog, thumping, gum-trees, skulked, she-oaks, cripes, goanna, yabbies