Gone
bush for old sake
Camp
clothes, food galore
Just
me and an old mate
In
the sticks, nice and raw
There’s
nothing so late
At
forty years and more
Become
more innate
And
less of a bore
I
morph back into boy
Back
to oldened jokes
Not
playing some toy
Old
tricks, youngster blokes
Don’t
gallivant about
Drink
myself silly
Poke
fun with much clout
Or
pee into the billy
But
I tend to hang out
Barely
move till midmorning
Lose
track of the chance
Get
lost, what I’m doing
I’m
not sure I grew
Into
much of a man
Just
boys dressed up
This
side of the dam
If
anything I’ve learned
Forty
years at sea
I
haven’t quite earned
Man
status much as ye
