Bushmen one morning rode up to an inn
He'd only returned from a trip to the
And set down the drink with
Harry, he said, and it's queer
You can read it like print
with an old piece of flint
It was always three -star
And sit down to drink with
You were always together, whereas
He may put it away for our old mate,
The one gazing out over ridges afar
leave the glass on the bar
He thought of the faraway
He thought of the comrade,
They lifted their glasses
And the sunlight streamed in,
Seemed to glow in the depth
And still in that shanty,
And often the strangers read as they pass
The name of the bushman en
That glass never stands with the rest