The Last Muster

The Last Muster

I was strolling through the parkland,
there were some kids at play
I saw an old-timer, and bid him time of day
On a park bench he was seated,
and by the clothes he wore
I knew he came from further out,
I’d seen his type before

I sat down there beside him
and asked from where he came
Was he droving down the Saxby,
or was it Castlemaine
He looked at me, his eyes lit up
as memories flooded back
He told me he was droving once,
along the Birdsville track

Chorus:
He spoke of outback cattle camps,
of stock routes dry and dusty
And the seasons when the rains would come,
and your camp was dank and musty
He dreamed again when he was young,
you could hear the horse bells ringing
The cattle bedded down at night,
the drover ‘round them singing

I hear the stock whips cracking
and it echoes through the hills
The memories of those musters,
how they linger with me still
I’m out there with the stockmen
when we’d muster on the plain
And bring the cattle homeward
to yard them once again

He’ll leave the bush behind him,
no more out there to roam
They’re taking him away tonight
to put him in a home
Then I noticed he was dozing
so I quietly walked away
Left him laying on that park bench
with his dreams of yesterday