OLD BILLY—battered, brown and black <br /> With many days of camping, <br />Companion of the bulging sack, <br /> And friend in all our tramping: <br />How often on the Friday night— <br /> Your cubic measure testing— <br />With jam and tea we stuffed you tight <br /> Before we started nesting! <br />How often, in the moonlight pale, <br /> Through gums and gullies toiling, <br />We’ve been the first the hill to scale, <br /> The first to watch you boiling; <br />When at the lane the tent was spread <br /> The silver wattle under, <br />And early shafts of rosy red <br /> Cleft sea-born mists asunder! <br /> <br />And so, old Billy, you recall <br /> A host of sun-burnt faces, <br />And bring us back again to all <br /> The best of camping places. <br />True flavour of the bush you bear, <br /> Of camp and its surrounding, <br />Of freedom and of open air, <br /> Of healthy life abounding. <br /> <br />You bring us more—with those we love <br /> We watched you boil and bubble, <br />And in the sunny skies above <br /> Forgot each schoolboy trouble <br />So not without a kindly glance <br /> We eye you in the study, <br />Although you’ve met with some mischance, <br /> Although you’re black and muddy!<br /><br />James Lister Cuthbertson<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/to-a-billy/
