Sell Out

A 1-post collection

A Poem - not mine.

Australia

When the shearing sheds are silent and the stock camps fallen quiet

When the gidgee coals no longer glow across the outback night

And the bush is forced to hang a sign, ‘Gone broke and won’t be back’

And spirits fear to find a way beyond the beaten track


When harvesters stand derelict upon the wind swept plains

And brave hearts pin their hopes no more on chance of loving rains

When a  hundred outback settlements are ghost towns overnight

When we’ve lost the drive and heart we had to once more see us right


When 'Pioneer’ means a stereo  and 'Digger’ some backhoe

And the  'Outback’ is behind the house. there’s nowhere else to go

And 'Anzac’ is a biscuit brand and probably foreign owned

And education really means brainwashed and neatly cloned


When you have to bake a loaf of bread to make a decent crust

And our heritage once enshrined in gold is crumbling to dust

And old folk pay their camping fees on land for which they fought

And fishing is a great escape; this is until you’re caught


When you see our kids with Yankee caps and resentment in their eyes

And the soaring crime and hopeless hearts are no longer a surprise

When the  name of RM Williams is a yuppie clothing brand

Not a product of our heritage that grew off the land


When offering a  hand makes people think you’ll amputate

And two dogs meeting in the  street is what you call a 'Mate’

When 'Political Correctness’ has replaced all common sense

When you’re forced to see it their way, there’s no sitting on the fence


Yes one day you might find yourself an outcast in this land

Perhaps your heart will tell you then, 'I should have made a stand’

Just go and ask the farmers that should remove all doubt

Then join the swelling ranks who say, “Don’t Sell Australia Out!”
 
 

Author unknown