A CHALLENGE BY JOHN HANSEN PAL FEATURED AT END OF STORY

The Last Round Up

The song of me and you

Nostalgia in a photograph created in NightCafe as imagined by Raine Lore

Remember, dear, when we were young, When soil ran through our veins, Those droving days, your pure white steed Responding to its reins.

I’d sit upon my wooden perch Above the cattle crush. The c’mon! calls, the oi! yip! yip! The choking, airborne dust.

And always at the pointy end Your mother, fierce and strong, In charge of prods and other means To push the herd along.

She yelled her c’mon cattle calls As rowdy as the best; A tough, old-fashioned lady in her flowery summer dress.

Beasts pushed their way through stubborn mob, Protesting grunts and lows. Then, awkward flounder into dip To cure their ticky woes.

We’d set them free to roam away To drain the toxic waste, Then horses, men, and womenfolk Sought shelter in the shade.

’Twas time to tip the thermos out, And munch a scone or two, Then check the windmills and the trough, Then find a bushy loo.

When all was done, we’d load the ute, And call the day a day. Head back to Dad, left home alone To while the hours away.

His health had seen much better times, Life’s tolls a heavy strain, Then, suddenly, he left us for a funeral in the rain.

The family toiled, we did our best, A few years passing by, Until that day, your mother cried, “There’s stuff I want to try!”

With heavy hearts, the signs were placed, The final work began —  Machinery, tools, a lifetime cleared, Souls ploughed into the land.

The day arrived, with azure skies A heat haze beckonin’ With heavy hearts, we rode along To muster livestock in.

Our throats were filled with grief and dust, Yips, yells, and loud, “C’mons!” The last round up on precious ground, A final era gong.

Then battered thermos — lukewarm tea, and scones fresh-made at dawn. Some salty tears and tales retold, A wake; a boisterous mourn.

The years flew by, directions changed, Adventures by the score, Down Mem’ry Lane in old deckchairs, Our bodies frail and sore.

Your fierce ol’ mum — she’s still with us, A century old and more, Who never could quite leave behind The life she once adored.

Remember, dear, when we were young So bold in life and love? We took our passions to the stage, And thanked the stars above

For everything that we’ve been blessed, For country, true and blue, The heat, the sweat, the toil, the grit, The song of me and you.

The real Last Round Up photo—taken by Raine Lore

John wrote — I challenge you all to share your favorite poem — the one that touches your heart the most.❤️And also tell the reason behind that.

💭 Maybe it healed you 💭 Maybe it changed your perspective 💭 Or maybe… it simply feels like home

And here’s the twist 👇 You can also write your own poem if you feel inspired!

As you can see, I wrote a poem of my own, from my heart.

Now, I’m tagging the following lovely writers — perhaps they would like to tell us of their favourite poem, or write a poem of their own (or not)🥰 Jaylee Reign, David Rudder, Suma Narayan, Maria Rattray, James Beaufait, Neera Handa Dr

John prompted us with this poem that holds a place in his heart:

[embed]✨ “The Poem That Lives In Your Heart” 💫 — An Open Invitation ✨ Clancy of the Overflowmedium.com