On aching feet, he shuffles dust
On his regular outback beat
A never ending wanderlust,
On aching feet.
He passes empty stalks of wheat
And wilted crops, all ruined by the rust
No croppers left to meet and greet,
Yet he still wanders as he must
The lonely roads and outback streets
To this brown land he shows his trust,
On aching feet.
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For some reason I'm yet to fathom I'm unable to reply to comments left by others so thank you for dropping by and taking the time to read and comment. Merlene