With pannikins all rusty, <br />And billy burnt and black, <br />And clothes all torn and dusty, <br />That scarcely hide his back; <br />With sun-cracked saddle-leather, <br />And knotted greenhide rein, <br />And face burnt brown with weather, <br />Our Andy’s home again! <br />His unkempt hair is faded <br />With sleeping in the wet, <br />He’s looking old and jaded; <br />But he is hearty yet. <br />With eyes sunk in their sockets— <br />But merry as of yore; <br />With big cheques in his pockets, <br />Our Andy’s home once more! <br /> <br />Old Uncle’s bright and cheerful; <br />He wears a smiling face; <br />And Aunty’s never tearful <br />Now Andy’s round the place. <br />Old Blucher barks for gladness; <br />He broke his rusty chain, <br />And leapt in joyous madness <br />When Andy came again. <br /> <br />With tales of flood and famine, <br />On distant northern tracks, <br />And shady yarns—‘baal gammon!’ <br />Of dealings with the blacks, <br />From where the skies hang lazy <br />On many a northern plain, <br />From regions dim and hazy <br />Our Andy’s home again! <br /> <br />His toil is nearly over; <br />He’ll soon enjoy his gains. <br />Not long he’ll be a drover, <br />And cross the lonely plains. <br />We’ll happy be for ever <br />When he’ll no longer roam, <br />But by some deep, cool river <br />Will make us all a home.<br /><br />Henry Lawson<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/andy-s-return/
