Personal Poetry

Page 4

Another point of View

Part 2

Christmas In Jerrys Plains

Christmas can be many things,
tinsel trees or fir boughs green.
Bush fires blazing through the night,
or snow laid deep with crystals bright.

A brand new toy, a grammar pie,
the band of carolers passing by.
Friends and family will be meeting,
joined in laughter, song and greeting.

But none of these are Christmas real,
tis love of all that we do feel.
Christ is born the King of Kings,
his gift of love to this earth brings.

Our prayers of joy and thanks this day,
that Jesus Christ has passed our way.
By Myrna McFall

The Hound’s Revenge

Twas on a sultry December night,
the moon was high and the stars were bright.
Crickets strummed their rasping sound
and all could hear old “Stormy,” the hound.

Sleep’s restful veil came unwillingly slow,
each breath a warm and heavy flow.
Then through the bush and up the creek,
there echoed that frantic sound and all heard the
bay of old “ Stormy,” the hound.

Exposed by moonlight’s brilliant glow
the flock in peaceful repose,
heard the deadly Dingo’s howl,
as they in the blackest shadows prowled.

Then sheep in fright began their flight!
Again there came that mournful sound
and all heard the bay
of old “Stormy the hound.

Then the bloody pack descended,
victims bleated for help in vein!
The hound could do no more than bay
and the lucky lambs all fled away!

Oh, murderous devils of the night beware,
for the shooter’s aim is right,
for the hound’s revenge upon you!

By Myrna McFall

Old Stormy, From Apple Tree Flat

Have you ere heard told the story
of old “Stormy,” from “Apple Tree Flat,”
who roamed the wild bush country
of “Wollemi,”just up the track?

She lived with her master in mountains,
with him and her canine friends
but for illness the old man from his home was taken
and no man his dogs did attend.

Now kenneled and chained they were starving
so it seemed that this story might end
but one hound broke free of her tether
to hunt in the wilderness then.

Three days had the storm struck with fury,
a downpour that empty catchments filled
and “Apple Tree creek,” was raging
to the “Hunter,” just down the hill.

Then that pathetic hound in early hours of morn
crawled from swirling waters wet and cold,
flesh hanging draped loose over weary bones.
Bloody paws, torn ears,eyes that seemed to be crying tears!

A crust of bread was my offer
to that timid, miserable hound
but to my amazement she cowered
and turned that morsel down.

Then when the young lad Toby approached her,
she approved and adopted us all.
So, she sat at our doorstep daily
awaiting her master’s call.

We named this shy stray “Stormy,”
after the way that she came,
so she took to the mountains racing
and her bay could be heard on the wind.

The fox was kept from the hen house
by that mournful, monotonous din
and Kangaroos from the Lucerne went springing
when “Stormy "entered in.

When frightened lambs bleated in panic
and leaped from the Dingo’s attack,
you could hear old “Stormy,” go baying
as she fearlessly broke up the pack.

So, now I’ve told the story
of old “Stormy,” from “Apple Tree Flat,”
cause sure as I’m living I’m betting,
no hound has been faithful as that!

By Myrna McFall

Another point of View part 1

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