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Larry and Bob and Me

Edward S. Sorenson

Through the haze that gleams o’er the western plains
    And dances o’er rift and rut,
Where the hot winds sweep and the red sand rains
    By many an empty hut;
Where floods come down in a night or day
    And drive us from track to tree,
We tramped away from the back of Hay—
    Larry and Bob and me.

On run and road, in the shed and yard,
    And even at growin’ spuds,
They used to say that our luck was hard,
    And some of them called us duds
At missin’ jobs and the things worth while,
    Yet this I will guarantee;
There’s few that smile in a thousand mile
    Like Larry and Bob and me.

Far hills look greener, and thus the track
    Is lit by our nightly fires;
The swag has a lease on each bending back—
    Lord knows when the lease expires!
Our luck is out on the overland,
    And though many a shed we see,
There’s never a stand with the shearing band
    For Larry and Bob and me.

For a year we went—and it’s three years now,
    And we promised them all we’d write;
But we can’t agree to a “post” somehow,
    And they know how we used to skite,
Our address just now is at Emu Peak,
    Where close by the track lie we;
It will go next week down the Toompine Creek
    With Larry and Bob and me.

They’d like us home, but as duds o’ men
    Our chances of home are small;
If we can’t go back with a pile—well, then,
    We’ll never go back at all.
Well write next job, and we’ll tell old dad
    We’re doin’ most handsomely,
Each rovin’ lad on a drovin’ prad—
    Larry and Bob and me.

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