Oh, he was old and he was spare; <br />His bushy whiskers and his hair <br />Were all fussed up and very grey <br />He said he'd come a long, long way <br />And had a long, long way to go. <br />Each boot was broken at the toe, <br />And he'd a swag upon his back. <br />His billy-can, as black as black, <br />Was just the thing for making tea <br />At picnics, so it seemed to me. <br /> <br />'Twas hard to earn a bite of bread, <br />He told me. Then he shook his head, <br />And all the little corks that hung <br />Around his hat-brim danced and swung <br />And bobbed about his face; and when <br />I laughed he made them dance again. <br />He said they were for keeping flies - <br />"The pesky varmints" - from his eyes. <br />He called me "Codger". . . "Now you see <br />The best days of your life," said he. <br />"But days will come to bend your back, <br />And, when they come, keep off the track. <br />Keep off, young codger, if you can. <br />He seemed a funny sort of man. <br /> <br />He told me that he wanted work, <br />But jobs were scarce this side of Bourke, <br />And he supposed he'd have to go <br />Another fifty mile or so. <br />"Nigh all my life the track I've walked," <br />He said. I liked the way he talked. <br />And oh, the places he had seen! <br />I don't know where he had not been - <br />On every road, in every town, <br />All through the country, up and down. <br />"Young codger, shun the track," he said. <br />And put his hand upon my head. <br />I noticed, then, that his old eyes <br />Were very blue and very wise. <br />"Ay, once I was a little lad," <br />He said, and seemed to grow quite sad. <br /> <br />I sometimes think: When I'm a man, <br />I'll get a good black billy-can <br />And hang some corks around my hat, <br />And lead a jolly life like that.<br /><br />Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-swagman/
