Murphy’s Luck.

This is the second poem about Murphy, there's more to come.

Murphy’s Luck.

This tale was told by Murphy
So I can’t be sure it’s true
But just as Murphy told it
I’ll pass it on to you.

He’d ventured to the goldfields,
Meant to seek his fortune there,
And he found a long abandoned hut
That needed loving care.

This hut was made of sun dried bricks
And though it lacked a roof,
With rusty sheets of iron
He quickly made it waterproof.

And there he lived while prospecting,
And panning in the creek,
But never did he sight the gold
He’d gone down South to seek.

Old timers told him, as they paused
To look upon the scene,
“You’ll never find a speck of gold,
Where Chinamen have been.”

One night while Murphy sat
Beside his fire of mulga wood
He cursed the place and wondered why
His luck was never good.

The flames leapt up as Murphy stirred
The embers with his pick,
The firelight caught a sparkle
From the corner of a brick.

With clasp knife Murphy prized it out
And held it to the light
And gazed with Joy at what he held,
A nugget gleaming bright.

The truth soon dawned as Murphy
Eyed the riches he had found.
The mud from which the bricks were made
Was from the richest ground.

So day by day he crushed and panned
And great was his reward,
As one by one the sun dried bricks
Gave up their golden hoard.

He bought a tent to shelter in
A draughty tent and cold.
And though he lost his cosy hut
He got a lot of gold.

written by Philip Lovely.