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A Drink With Dan

Edward S. Sorenson

They buried old Dan on a sandy mound
    Far out where the sun goes down,
With his swag for shroud where his swag was found,
    By the wanderers’ track from town.
Twas a half-way place to the camps and huts
    And the sheds of the shearer clan;
And all who followed the winding ruts
    Stopped there for a drink with Dan.
 
He had pressed the clips and the bales had packed
    In the days of the flashing blades,
And while dead marines for the dead they stacked
    They told of his escapades.
For Dan was a terror when sheds cut out,
    And he landed with cheques in town;
And after his last uproarious bout,
    He’d left with his plimsoll down.

They fenced him in with the bottles spilt
    On the hillock where he was hid,
And at the head of his plot they built
    A glistening pyramid.
As “Bottle Grave” it was known far out
    On the tracks of the caravan,
And drover, shearer and rouseabout
    Stopped there for a drink with Dan.

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