Deep down in the forest, the axes are ringing,
To the mill the timber the oxen are bringing,
With a slow measured tread up the track winding,
Five span of oxen slowly are finding,
The big heavy logs a big task to tackle ,
As up from the valley the oxen team battle,
The bullocky strides with his whip on his shoulder,,
Along side the team he’s a man who looks older,
Than his forty plus years, of hard out door Yakka.
For driving the teams is no easy matter.
In all sorts of weather he’s trudging the track
A man for all seasons, that’s just a fact.
The huge log slithers and slides on the ground,
Where it has travelled great grooves may be found,
Pieces of bark hang on it’s side in tatters
As the bullock heave, hear the chains rattle,
Slowly deliberately they move up the track,
Hearing occasionly the lomg bullock whip crack,
Up to the mill in slow easy stages
Hear the great saws screaming and raging,
The oxen stand quietly heavily breathing.
They know for certain they’ll soon be leaving,
While down in the valley the axes are ringing,
Another great log they’ll soon be bringing.
John W 25/11/03