In the heart of the bush, where the horizon sings,

Lives a cocky, a farmer, amongst other things.

On the homestead, his great great great grandfather built,

On cleared land, with sweat and guilt.

His forefather, a convict, from Britain sent,

For a petty crime, his life was bent.

To the wilds of New Holland, where he made his stand,

In the unforgiving, yet promising land.

The cocky sticks to this hard-won earth,

For in this soil, he finds his worth.

Through droughts that parch, and fires that rage,

He battles on, an unending wage.

Floods that swallow, pests that steal,

Yet, in this struggle, his purpose feels real.

The land, it's harsh, gives no easy pass,

But he's rooted here, like tough kikuyu grass.

Seven days he toils, under the sun's harsh frown,

Raising cattle, in the bushland, brown.

Each year's a gamble, a roll of the dice,

Too much year at the end of the price.

His hopes, like the river, run deep and clear,

For rains that'll come, for skies that'll clear.

Dreams of fields green, of cattle fat and round,

Of the land yielding more than is usually found.

His wife, by his side, a partner true,

Together they've weathered storms a few.

But their children, they've left for city lights,

Leaving the cocky with lonely nights.

He wonders if they'll ever understand,

The love, the bond with this sunburnt land.

Will they know the tales, the history deep,

Or will it be his alone to keep?

He dreams of them returning one day,

To the land, where their roots lay.

But the city's call is loud and bright,

Against the quiet bushland night.

Will he die here? He reckons he might,

Under the stars, in the soft moonlight.

This land of his forefathers, tough and wild,

Will be his legacy, from father to child.

So the cocky endures, with a heart strong and brave,

On this land, a convict's gift, that he tirelessly gave.

Through hardships many, and joys few,

He remains a son of the bush, honest and true.

© Peter Pickering 2023. www.peterpickering.com

The Cocky's Legacy: A Tale of the Land