‘HARRY! what, that yourself, back to old Vic., man, <br />Down from the Never Land? Now, what’s your game? <br />Ugly as ever. Not dropped the old trick, man? <br />Say, what’ll you take with me? Give it a name. <br /> <br />‘Here long? Well, rather, lad; five years and over, <br />Settled for good, and supporting a wife. <br />Slipped from the saddle, and living in clover, <br />Swore off a heap, and I’ve slung the old life. <br /> <br />‘What’s come of Taffy, and Brum, and the rest of them? <br />Long since you broke with the Poverty push?’ <br />‘Bill, you’re on top, you’ve the best of the best of them. <br />Poor Brum’s a dummy, Taff died in the bush; <br /> <br />‘Bob’s cook for Chows on an absentee’s station, <br />Sam’s tout for spielers, Pete’s lumbered for life; <br />I’m on a tramp through the whole of creation, <br />Tracking a woman, my runaway wife. <br /> <br />Left me six years ago—sloped! I was shearing <br />Up on the Thomson. She left not a word; <br />Last year was seen by a Barcoo man, steering <br />Round about here, and that’s all that I’ve heard. <br /> <br />Heard of her, know her, Bill?—tallish and clever, <br />Blue eyes, dark hair, and she’s branded here, so; <br />Not one to liquor, or go on the never, <br />But skittish and queer in her tantrums, you know. <br /> <br />This is her picture, Bill; just have a look at her. <br />Like any female you chance to have seen? <br />Hallo! here, hold up! Say, man, what’s the matter? <br />Your Wife! By the Lord, Morton, what do you mean?’<br /><br />Edward George Dyson<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/whose-wife/
