In Memory Of Micky.

In Memory Of Micky.

“I’m going over the hills,” he said,
That grand old man of the land,
The hills, we knew were the mountains blue,
Yet how could we understand?

He’d received a note from a run out west,
With writing firm and true,
“Shearing starts on the 5^th of May,
And we’re holding a pen for you.”

He packed his clothes and his shearing gear
Ready for the western plain,
But how could we know that he surely knew
He wouldn’t be back again?

He’d been a gun in the long ago
When youth was on his side,
He’d paced the champions blow by blow
and beaten them all beside!

“I’m going over the hills,” he said
And he kissed us all goodbye,
Then he lifted his pack and caught his train,
Was that a tear in his eye?

So he made his choice and with never a word
He went over the hills again,
And he dropped in his tracks on that shearing board
Out there on the western plain!

Yes! he made his choice and he paid the price,
And this truth at last we know,
Out there with his mates in that shearing shed
Was the way that he wanted to go.

written by Betty Owens