A Bush Yarn

A BUSH YARN

I'd like to tell you a story,
a bush tale, I suppose.
I'm not very good at writing,
So I'll put it down in prose.
It's about an old prospector,
who lived out Rylstone way.
And it's supposed to be quite true,
or so the locals say.

On one of his many escapades
He pitched his tent, I think,
By one of the local rivulets
Where he could find a drink.
After eating his evening meal,
He squatted down by the fire,
To think and dream and remember,
As he felt his body tire.

He was almost asleep, listening
To the song of a magpie lark,
When he spotted two yellow eyes,
Watching him in the dark.
They seemed to glow in the firelight,
And looked three feet apart.
He wondered what they were,
These eyes that made him start.

He grabbed his trusty rifle and,
Feeling excitement rise,
He shot the mysterious creature,
Right between those eyes.
The glowing eyes were gone,
And with wariness inborn,
He decided he would take a look,
First thing in the morn.

At first light he awoke,
And went to see his prize.
But there was nothing there,
Imagine his surprise!
For he was known a crack shot
Who never missed his mark.
It shouldn't have made a difference
The fact that it was dark.

He fossicked on all through the day,
Pondering his plight.
What sort of mystery creature
Had watched him in the night?
How come he had missed what
Was such an easy shot?
Oh well, such a mystery
will too soon be forgot.

That very same evening,
As he sat once again,
In front of his camp fire,
He was deep in thought, when,
He saw with a shock that
The eyes, yellow and wide,
Were watching him again
From the darkness outside.

Reaching for his gun,
And taking careful sight,
He gently squeezed the trigger,
Sure his aim was right.
And once again the eyes
Simply disappeared,
Without a sound, all quiet,
It was so very weird.

He went out in the morning
To see what he had shot.
But as he'd found the previous day,
There was nothing for the pot.
It was decided then,
That he just had to see
Just what the puzzling creature
Causing this problem could be.

The next day, in a gum tree,
High above the camp,
He rigged up a box-like structure,
To cover a hurricane lamp.
He made it so it would open,
When he pulled on a rope
And light the surrounding dark,
Or such was his fervent hope.

That very night, as before,
He sat once again by the fire,
Hoping the creature would come,
And again fulfil his desire.
When, sure enough, as he hoped,
His mystery guest was there,
Staring from the dark,
Like a tiger in its lair.

So, he carefully pulled the rope,
To bare the hidden light.
And out it burst, as planned,
To lighten up the night.
And imagine his dismay,
When he finally managed to spy,
Two wily old dingoes,
Each with only one eye!