Murphy’s Miracle.

This is the third and last one that I have seen of Philip Lovely’s works on Murphy,
however there is still another Murphy story by a different author to come.





Murphy’s Miracle.

“Twas down by Booraloora creek
That Murphy’s slab hut stood,
His slow combustion stove
Was always running out of wood.

Yet littering the ground
For half a mile ‘round Murphy’s hut
Lay many dozen fallen trees
All waiting to be cut.

From Murphy’s hut to where
His windmill stood above the bore
Was wood enough for years,
But Murphy didn’t own a saw.

Now Murphy tells this story
And he swears to God it’s true.
But Murphy believes in miracles
I don’t know if you do?

One Sunday morning after mass
He prayed on bended knees
For God to send a miracle
To cut up all his trees.

That night a fierce storm arose
With winds of awesome power
That spun the windmill blades so fast
They blurred, upon the tower.

The wind then lifted up the logs
As only whirlwinds can,
And hurled them with tremendous force
Against the whirling fan.

A mighty buzz-saw cutting logs
The windmill blades became.
I don’t believe it all myself,
But that is Murphy’s claim.

At dawn when Murphy ventured out,
He saw with great delight
That every fallen tree had been
Dismembered overnight.

And piled up twenty metres high
To reach the windmill gears
Were lovely firewood blocks
Enough to last for years and years.

If you believe what Murphy says,
(I don’t know why you should)
Then that sure was a miracle
That cut up Murphy’s wood.


written by Philip Lovely.