I bought a run a while ago, <br />On country rough and ridgy, <br />Where wallaroos and wombats grow -- <br />The Upper Murrumbidgee. <br />The grass is rather scant, it's true, <br />But this a fair exchange is, <br />The sheep can see a lovely view <br />By climbing up the ranges. <br /> <br />And She-oak Flat's the station's name, <br />I'm not surprised at that, sirs: <br />The oaks were there before I came, <br />And I supplied the flat, sirs. <br />A man would wonder how it's done, <br />The stock so soon decreases -- <br />They sometimes tumble off the run <br />And break themselves to pieces. <br /> <br />I've tried to make expenses meet, <br />But wasted all my labours, <br />The sheep the dingoes didn't eat <br />Were stolen by the neighbours. <br />They stole my pears -- my native pears -- <br />Those thrice-convicted felons, <br />And ravished from me unawares <br />My crop of paddy-melons. <br /> <br />And sometimes under sunny skies, <br />Without an explanation, <br />The Murrumbidgee used to rise <br />And overflow the station. <br />But this was caused (as now I know) <br />When summer sunshine glowing <br />Had melted all Kiandra's snow <br />And set the river going. <br /> <br />And in the news, perhaps you read: <br />`Stock passings. Puckawidgee, <br />Fat cattle: Seven hundred head <br />Swept down the Murrumbidgee; <br />Their destination's quite obscure, <br />But, somehow, there's a notion, <br />Unless the river falls, they're sure <br />To reach the Southern Ocean.' <br /> <br />So after that I'll give it best; <br />No more with Fate I'll battle. <br />I'll let the river take the rest, <br />For those were all my cattle. <br />And with one comprehensive curse <br />I close my brief narration, <br />And advertise it in my verse -- <br />`For Sale! A Mountain Station.' <br /> <br /> <br />A.B. (Banjo) Paterson<br /><br />Andrew Barton Paterson<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/a-mountain-station/
