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The Old River Road

Edward S. Sorenson

‘Twas a track along the river,
    Outlined first by someone’s dray,
From the farms to town and station,
    That became our common way.
It meandered like a serpent,
    And whene’er we had a load,
It was hard and heavy going
    On that old river road.

Where it left the river timber
    ‘Twas to cut across the bends,
Or to spread on quaggy marshes
    Curving round the gully ends.
There you’d meet perspiring drivers
    Striving on their teams to goad,
And the language was a caution
    On the old river road.

Though at times ‘twas hard and rutted,
    In the main ‘twould bog a duck,
And wherever you might journey
    You’d the chance of getting stuck;
And perhaps in mud and darkness
    Stress compelled you to unload,
Or plod-home and leave the shaker
    On the old river road.

In the saddle we got splattered
    Thickly, to our Sunday hats,
By the squelches from the horses
    Plugging over boggy flats;
While the swaggies toiled barefooted
    Through the haunt of frog and toad—
There was never any scorching
    On the old river road.

Still the years brought compensations,
    Though the way was always bad,
In assisting one another
    Who’d forget the times we had?
Here and there young hearts were gladdened,
    Meeting where adventure strode,
For romance went blithely faring
    On the old river road.

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