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“Hiking”

Edward S. Sorenson

Yes, we know the joys of hiking—
    It’s the game we understand,
Where the ways are hard for hiking,
And poor luck is easy striking
    In the sand and sorrow land.

We go hiking; we’re the rover
    When adversity’s about,
On the long tracks of the drover
This the joy we ponder over—
    Our damn boots are wearing out!

We go hiking out, and ever
    We are under summer skies. . . .
But we don’t feel very clever
When the storms of Never-Never
    Hurtle sand-dunes in our eyes.

Hiking long the Darling River
    Where the whalers fish and laze,
While the tussocks seem to shiver
And the gum-leaves shake and quiver
    In the dancing Darling haze;

Primed with damper, junk and skilly,
    Sweating like a water-cart,
With the bundle and the billy
Oh it’s merry where it’s hilly,
    And the trees are far apart!

We are hiking, daily hiking,
    Out from Bourke and thereabout
Though it isn’t to our liking
When the bindis are spiking,
    It’s our only passage out.

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